GeraltofRiviaisawitcher.Acunningsorcerer.Amercilessassassin.
Andacold-bloodedkiller.
Hissolepurpose:todestroythemonstersthatplaguetheworld.
Butnoteverythingmonstrous-lookingisevilandnoteverythingfairis
good...andineveryfairytalethereisagrainoftruth.
OceanofPDF.com
2
AndrzejSapkowski
Thelastwish
TheWitcher:1
ePubr1.0
Watcher25.03.17
3
Originaltitle:Ostatnieżyczenie
AndrzejSapkowski,1993
Translator:DanusiaStok
Coverdesign:Watcher
Digitaleditor:Watcher
ePubbaser1.2
4
THEVOICEOFREASON
5
I
Shecametohimtowardmorning.
Sheenteredverycarefully,movingsilently,floatingthroughthechamber
like a phantom; the only sound was that of her mantle brushing her naked
skin.Yetthisfaintsoundwasenoughtowakethewitcher—ormaybeitonly
torehimfromthehalf-slumberinwhichherockedmonotonously,asthough
traveling through fathomless depths, suspended between the seabed and its
calmsurfaceamidgentlyundulatingstrandsofseaweed.
Hedidnotmove,didnotstir.Thegirlflittedcloser,threwoffhermantle
and slowly, hesitantly, rested her knee on the edge of the large bed. He
observedherthroughloweredlashes,stillnotbetrayinghiswakefulness.The
girlcarefullyclimbedontothebedclothes,andontohim,wrappingherthighs
around him. Leaning forward on straining arms, she brushed his face with
hairwhichsmelledofchamomile.Determined,andasifimpatient,sheleaned
over and touched his eyelids, cheeks, lips with the tips of her breasts. He
smiled, very slowly, delicately, grasping her by the shoulders, and she
straightened, escaping his fingers. She was radiant, luminous in the misty
brillianceofdawn.Hemoved,butwithpressurefrombothhands,sheforbade
himtochangepositionand,withalightbutdecisivemovementofherhips,
demandedaresponse.
Heresponded.Shenolongerbackedawayfromhishands;shethrewher
head back,shook her hair. Her skin was cool and surprisingly smooth. Her
eyes,glimpsedwhen herfacecameclose tohis,werehuge and darkasthe
eyesofawaternymph.
Rocked,hesankintoaseaofchamomileasitgrewagitatedandseethed.
6
THEWITCHER
7
I
Later,itwassaidthemancamefromthenorth,fromRopersGate.Hecame
onfoot, leading his laden horse by the bridle. It was late afternoon and the
ropers’,saddlers’andtanners’stallswerealreadyclosed,thestreetempty.It
was hot but the man had a black coat thrown over his shoulders. He drew
attentiontohimself.
He stopped infront of theOld Narakort Inn, stood there for amoment,
listenedtothehubbubofvoices.Asusual,atthishour,itwasfullofpeople.
Thestrangerdid not entertheOldNarakort. He pulledhishorsefarther
downthestreettoanothertavern,asmallerone,calledTheFox.Notenjoying
thebestofreputations,itwasalmostempty.
The innkeeper raised his head above a barrel of pickled cucumbers and
measuredthemanwithhisgaze.Theoutsider,stillinhiscoat,stoodstifflyin
frontofthecounter,motionlessandsilent.
“Whatwillitbe?”
“Beer,”saidthestranger.Hisvoicewasunpleasant.
Theinnkeeperwipedhishandsonhiscanvasapronandfilledachipped
earthenwaretankard.
Thestrangerwasnotoldbuthishairwasalmostentirelywhite.Beneath
hiscoatheworeawornleatherjerkinlacedupattheneckandshoulders.
Ashetookoffhiscoatthosearoundhimnoticedthathecarriedasword—
notsomethingunusualinitself,nearlyeverymaninWyzimcarriedaweapon
—but no onecarried a swordstrapped to hisback as ifit were abow or a
quiver.
Thestrangerdidnotsitatthetablewiththefewotherguests.Heremained
standingatthecounter,piercingtheinnkeeperwithhisgaze.Hedrewfrom
thetankard.
“I’mlookingforaroomforthenight.”
“There’snone,”gruntedtheinnkeeper,lookingattheguest’sboots,dusty
anddirty.“AskattheOldNarakort.”
“Iwouldratherstayhere.”
“Thereis none.” The innkeeper finally recognizedthe stranger’s accent.
HewasRivian.
“I’ll pay.” The outsiderspoke quietly, as ifunsure, and the wholenasty
affair began. A pockmarked beanpole of a man who, from the moment the
outsider had entered had not taken his gloomy eyes from him, got up and
8
approached the counter. Two of his companions rose behind him, no more
thantwopacesaway.
“There’s no room to be had, you Rivian vagabond,” rasped the
pockmarkedman,standingrightnexttotheoutsider.“Wedon’tneedpeople
likeyouinWyzim.Thisisadecenttown!”
The outsider took his tankard and moved away. He glanced at the
innkeeper,whoavoidedhiseyes.Itdidnotevenoccurtohimtodefendthe
Rivian.Afterall,wholikedRivians?
“All Rivians are thieves,” the pockmarked man went on, his breath
smellingofbeer,garlicandanger.“Doyouhearme,youbastard?”
“He can’thear you. Hisears are fullof shit,” saidone of themen with
him,andthesecondmancackled.
“Payandleave!”yelledthepockedman.
OnlynowdidtheRivianlookathim.
“I’llfinishmybeer.”
“We’ll give you a hand,” the pockmarked man hissed. He knocked the
tankard from the stranger’s hand and simultaneously grabbing him by the
shoulder,dughisfingersintotheleatherstrapwhichrandiagonallyacrossthe
outsider’s chest. One of the men behind him raised a fist to strike. The
outsider curled up on the spot, throwing the pockmarked man off balance.
Theswordhissedinitssheathandglistenedbrieflyinthedimlight.Theplace
seethed. There was a scream, and one of the few remaining customers
tumbledtowardtheexit.Achairfellwithacrashandearthenwaresmacked
hollowly against the floor. The innkeeper, his lips trembling, looked at the
horriblyslashedfaceofthepockedman,who,clingingwithhisfingerstothe
edgeofthecounter,wasslowlysinkingfromsight.Theothertwowerelying
on the floor, one motionless, the other writhing and convulsing in a dark,
spreadingpuddle. A woman’s hysterical scream vibrated in the air, piercing
theearsastheinnkeepershuddered,caughthisbreath,andvomited.
Thestrangerretreatedtowardthewall,tenseandalert.Heheldthesword
inbothhands,sweepingthebladethroughtheair.Noonemoved.Terror,like
coldmud,wasclearontheirfaces,paralyzinglimbsandblockingthroats.
Three guards rushed into the tavern with thuds and clangs. They must
have been close by. They had truncheons wound with leather straps at the
ready,butatthesightofthecorpses,drewtheirswords.TheRivianpressed
his back against the wall and, with his left hand, pulled a dagger from his
boot.
“Throw that down!” one of the guards yelled with a trembling voice.
9
“Throwthatdown,youthug!You’recomingwithus!”
ThesecondguardkickedasidethetablebetweenhimselfandtheRivian.
“Gogetthemen,Treska!”heshoutedtothethirdguard,whohadstayed
closertothedoor.
“Noneed,”saidthestranger,loweringhissword.“I’llcomebymyself.”
“You’llgo,yousonofabitch,ontheendofarope!”yelledthetrembling
guard.“ThrowthatsworddownorI’llsmashyourheadin!”
TheRivianstraightened. He quicklypinnedhisbladeunder his leftarm
andwithhisrighthandraisedtowardtheguards,swiftlydrewacomplicated
sign in the air. The clout-nails which studded his tunic from his wrists to
elbowsflashed.
The guards drew back, shielding their faceswith theirarms. Oneof the
customerssprangupwhileanotherdartedtothedoor.Thewomanscreamed
again,wildandearsplitting.
“I’ll come by myself,” repeated the stranger in his resounding, metallic
voice.“Andthethreeofyouwillgoinfrontofme.Takemetothecastellan.I
don’tknowtheway.”
“Yes, sir,” mumbled the guard, dropping his head. He made toward the
exit, looking around tentatively. The other two guards followed him out
backward,hastily.Thestrangerfollowedintheirtracks,sheathinghissword
anddagger.Astheypassedthetablestheremainingcustomershidtheirfaces
fromthedangerousstranger.
10
II
Velerad,castellanofWyzim,scratchedhischin.Hewasneithersuperstitious
nor fainthearted but he did not relish the thought of being alone with the
white-hairedman.Atlasthemadeuphismind.
“Leave,” he ordered the guards. “And you, sit down. No, not there.
Fartheraway,ifyouplease.”
Thestrangersatdown.Henolongercarriedhisswordorblackcoat.
“I am Velerad, castellan of Wyzim,” said Velerad, toying with a heavy
macelyingonthetable.“AndI’mlistening.Whatdoyouhavetosaytome,
you brigand, before you are thrown into the dungeon? Three killed and an
attempted spell-casting; not bad, not bad at all. Men are impaled for such
thingsinWyzim.ButI’majustman,soIwilllistentoyou,beforeyouare
executed.Speak.”
The Rivian unbuttoned his jerkin and pulled out a wad of white goat
leather.
“You nail this crossways, in taverns,” he said quietly. “Is what’swritten
heretrue?”
“Ah.” Velerad grunted,looking at the runes etched into the leather. “So
that’sit.AndIdidn’tguessatonce.Yes,it’strue.It’ssignedbyFoltest,King
ofTemeria, PontarandMahakam,which makesittrue.Aproclamationisa
proclamation, witcher, but law is law—and I take care of law and order in
Wyzim.Iwillnotallowpeopletobemurdered!Doyouunderstand?”
TheRiviannoddedtoshowheunderstood.Veleradsnortedwithanger.
“You carry the witcher’s emblem?” The stranger reached into hisjerkin
oncemoreandpulledoutaroundmedalliononasilverchain.Itpicturedthe
headofawolf,baringitsfangs.“Anddoyouhaveaname?Anynamewill
do,it’ssimplytomakeconversationeasier.”
“MynameisGeralt.”
“Geralt,then.OfRiviaIgather,fromyouraccent?”
“OfRivia.”
“Right. Do you know what, Geralt? This”—Velerad slapped the
proclamation—“let it go. It’s a serious matter. Many have tried and failed
already. This, my friend, is not the same as roughing up a couple of
scoundrels.”
“I know. This is my job, Velerad. And that proclamation offers a three
thousandorenreward.”
11
“Three thousand.” Velerad scowled. “And the princess as a wife, or so
rumorsays,althoughgraciousFoltesthasnotproclaimedthat.”
“I’m not interested in the princess,” Geralt said calmly. He was sitting
motionless,hishandsonhisknees.“Justinthethreethousand.”
“Whattimes,” sighedthecastellan. “Whatfoultimes! Twenty yearsago
whowouldhavethought,eveninadrunkenstupor,thatsuchaprofessionasa
witcherwouldexist?Itinerantkillersofbasilisks;travelingslayersofdragons
andvodniks!Tellme,Geralt,areyouallowedbeerinyourguild?”
“Certainly.”
Veleradclappedhishands.
“Beer!”hecalled.“Andsitcloser,Geralt.WhatdoIcare?”
Thebeer,whenitarrived,wascoldandfrothy.
“Foultimes,”Velerodmuttered,drinkingdeepfromhistankard.“Allsorts
of filth has sprung up. Mahakam, in the mountains, is teeming with
bogeymen.Inthepastitwasjustwolveshowlinginthewoods,butnowit’s
koboldsandsprigganswhereveryouspit,werewolvesorsomeothervermin.
Fairiesandrusalkassnatchchildrenfromvillagesbythehundreds.Wehave
diseasesneverheardofbefore;itmakesmyhairstandonend.Andnow,to
topitall,this!”Hepushedthewadofleatherbackacrossthetable.“It’snot
surprising,Geralt,thatyouwitchers’servicesareindemand.”
“The king’s proclamation, castellan.” Geralt raised his head. “Do you
knowthedetails?”
Veleradleanedbackinhischair,lockedhishandsoverhisstomach.
“Thedetails?Yes,Iknowthem.Notfirsthandperhaps,butfromagood
source.”
“That’swhatIwant.”
“If you insist, then listen.” Velerad drank some beer and lowered his
voice.“DuringthereignofoldMedell,hisfather,whenourgraciouskingwas
stillaprince,Foltestshoweduswhathewascapableof,andhewascapable
of a great deal. We hoped he would grow out of it. But shortly after his
coronation Foltest surpassed himself, jaw-droppingly: he got his own sister
with child. Adda was younger and they were always together, but nobody
suspectedanythingexcept,perhaps,thequeen…Togettothepoint:suddenly
thereisAddawithahugebelly,andFoltesttalkingaboutgettingwedtohis
sister.ThesituationwasmadeevenmoretensebecauseVizimirofNovigrad
wanted his daughter, Dalka, to marry Foltest and had already sent out his
envoys.WehadtorestrainFoltestfrominsultingthem,andluckywedid,or
Vizimirwouldhavetornourinsidesout.Then,notwithoutAdda’shelp—for
12
she influenced her brother—we managed to dissuade the boy from a quick
wedding.
“Well,thenAddagavebirth.Andnowlisten,becausethisiswhereitall
starts.Onlyafewsawwhatshebore,butonemidwifejumpedfromthetower
windowtoherdeathandtheotherlosthersensesandremainsdazedtothis
day.SoIgatherthattheroyalbastard—agirl—wasnotcomely,andshedied
immediately.Noonewasinahurrytotietheumbilicalcord.NordidAdda,
tohergoodfortune,survivethebirth.
“ButthenFolteststeppedinagain.Wisdomdictatedthattheroyalbastard
shouldhavebeenburnedorburiedinthewilderness.Instead,ontheordersof
ourgraciousking,shewaslaidtorestinasarcophagusinthevaultsbeneath
thepalace.”
“It’stoolateforyourwisdomnow.”Geraltraisedhishead.“Oneofthe
KnowingOnesshouldhavebeensentfor.”
“Youmeanthosecharlatanswithstarsontheirhats?Ofcourse.Aboutten
of them came running later, when it became known what lay in the
sarcophagus. And what scrambled out of it at night. Though it didn’t start
manifestingstraightaway.Oh,no.Forsevenyearsafterthefuneraltherewas
peace.Thenonenight—itwasafullmoon—therewerescreamsinthepalace,
shouting and commotion! I don’t have to tell you, this is your trade and
you’vereadtheproclamation.Theinfanthadgrowninthecoffin—andhow!
—growntohaveincredibleteeth!Inaword,shebecameastriga.
“Pity you didn’t see the corpses,as I did. Hadyou, you’d havetaken a
greatdetourtoavoidWyzim.”
Geraltwassilent.
“Then,asIwassaying,”Veleradcontinued,“Foltestsummonedawhole
crowd of sorcerers. They all jabbered at the same time and almostcame to
blows with those staffs they carry—to beat off the dogs, no doubt, once
they’ve been set loose on them. And I think they regularly are. I’m sorry,
Geralt,ifyouhaveadifferentopinionofwizards.Nodoubtyoudo,inyour
profession, but to me they are swindlers and fools. You witchers inspire
greaterconfidenceinmen.Atleastyouaremorestraightforward.”
Geraltsmiled,butdidn’tcomment.
“But,tothepoint.”Thecastellanpeeredintohistankardandpouredmore
beerforhimselfandtheRivian.“Someofthesorcerers’advicedidn’tseemso
stupid. One suggested burning the striga together with the palace and the
sarcophagus.Anotheradvisedchoppingherheadoff.Therestwerekeenon
driving aspen stakes into her body during the day, when the she-devil was
13
asleep in her coffin, worn out by her night’s delights. Unfortunately one, a
jesterwithapointedhatandabaldpate,ahunchbackedhermit,argueditwas
magic:thespellcouldbeundoneandthestrigawouldturnintoFoltest’slittle
daughter, as pretty as a picture. Someone simply had to stay in the crypt
throughoutthenight,andthatwouldbethat.Afterwhich—canyouimagine
suchafool?—hewenttothepalaceforthenight.Littleofhimwasleftinthe
morning,only,Ibelieve,hishatandstick.ButFoltestclungtohisidealikea
burrtoadog’stail.Heforbadeanyattempttokillthestrigaandbroughtin
charlatansfromallcornersofWyzimtoreversethespellandturnherintoa
princess.Whatcolorfulcompany!Twistedwomen,cripples,dirtyandlouse-
ridden.Itwaspitiful.
“They went ahead and castspells—mainlyovera bowl and tankard. Of
coursesomewerequicklyexposedasfraudsbyFoltestorthecouncil.Afew
wereevenhungonthepalisades,butnotenoughofthem.Iwouldhavehung
themall.Idon’tsupposeIhavetosaythatthestriga,inthemeantime,was
gettingherteethintoallsortsofpeopleeverynowandagainandpayingno
attentiontothefraudstersandtheirspells.OrthatFoltestwasnolongerliving
inthepalace.Noonelivedthereanymore.”
Veleradpaused,dranksomebeer,andthewitcherwaitedinsilence.
“And so it’s been forseven years, Geralt, becauseshewas born around
fourteenyearsago.We’vehadafewotherworries,likewarwithVizimirof
Novigrad—fought for real, understandable reasons—over the border posts,
not for some princess or marriage alliance. Foltest sporadically hints at
marriage and looks over portraits from neighboring courts, which he then
throwsdowntheprivy.Andeverynowandthenthismaniaseizesholdofhim
again, and he sends horsemen out to look for new sorcerers. His promised
reward,thethreethousand,hasattractedanynumberofcranks,strayknights,
evenashepherdknownthroughoutthewholeregionasacretin,mayherest
inpeace.Butthestrigaisstilldoingwell.Everynowandagainshegetsher
teeth into someone. You get used to it. And at least those heroes trying to
reversethespellhaveause—thebeaststuffsherselfonthespotanddoesn’t
roam beyond her palace. Foltest has a new palace, of course, quite a fine
one.”
“In seven years”—Geralt raised his head—“in seven years, no one has
settledthematter?”
“Well, no.” Velerad’s gaze penetrated the witcher. “Because the matter
can’t be settled. We have to come to terms with it, especially Foltest, our
graciousandbelovedruler,whowillkeepnailingtheseproclamationsup at
14
crossroads.Althoughtherearefewervolunteersnow.Therewasonerecently,
butheinsistedonthethreethousandinadvance.Soweputhiminasackand
threwhiminthelake.”
“Thereisstillnoshortageoffraudsters,then.”
“No, far from it,” the castellan agreed without taking his eyes off the
witcher.“That’swhyyoumustn’tdemandgoldinadvancewhenyougotothe
palace.Ifyougo.”
“I’llgo.”
“It’suptoyou.Butremembermyadvice.Aswe’retalkingofthereward,
therehasbeenwordrecentlyaboutthesecondpartofit.Imentionedittoyou:
theprincessforawife.Idon’tknowwhomadeitup,butifthestrigalooks
the way they say then it’s an exceptionally grim joke. Nevertheless there’s
beennolackoffoolsracingtothepalaceforthechanceofjoiningtheroyal
family. Two apprentice shoemakers, to be precise. Why are shoemakers so
foolish,Geralt?”
“Idon’tknow.Andwitchers,castellan?Havetheytried?”
“Therewereafew.Butwhentheyheardthespellwastobeliftedandthe
striga wasn’t to be killed, they mostly shrugged and left. That’s one of the
reasonswhymyesteemforwitchershasgrown,Geralt.Andonecamealong,
youngerthanyou—Iforgethisname,ifhegaveitatall.Hetried.”
“And?”
“Thefangedprincessspreadhisentrailsoveraconsiderabledistance.”
Geraltnodded.“Thatwasallofthem?”
“Therewasoneother.”
Veleradremainedsilentforawhile,andthewitcherdidn’turgehimon.
“Yes,” the castellan said finally. “There was one more. At first, when
Foltest threatened him with the noose if he killed or harmed the striga, he
laughedandstartedpackinghisbelongings.Butthen”—Veleradleanedacross
thetable,loweredhisvoicetoalmostawhisper—“thenheundertookthetask.
Yousee,Geralt,therearesomewisemeninWyzim,inhighpositions,who’ve
had enough of this whole affair. Rumor has it these men persuaded the
witcher, in secret, not to fuss around with spells but to batter the striga to
death and tell the kingthe spellhad failed,thathisdear daughter had been
killed in self-defense—an accident at work. The king, of course, would be
furiousandrefusetopayanoreninreward.Butthatwouldbeanendtoit.
Thewittywitcherrepliedwecouldchasestrigasourselvesfornothing.Well,
whatcouldwedo?Wecollectedmoney,bargained…butnothingcameofit.”
Geraltraisedhiseyebrows.
15
“Nothing,” repeated Velerad. “The witcher didn’t want to try that first
night. He trudged around, lay in wait, wandered about the neighborhood.
Finally,theysay,hesawthestrigainaction,asshedoesnotclamberfromher
cryptjusttostretchherlegs.Hesawherandscarperedthatnight.Withouta
word.”
Geralt’sexpressionchangedalittle,inwhatwasprobablysupposedtobe
asmile.
“Those wise men,” he said, “they still have the money, no doubt?
Witchersdon’ttakepaymentinadvance.”
“Nodoubttheystilldo,”saidVelerad.
“Doestherumorsayhowmuchtheyoffer?”
Veleradbaredhisteethinasmile.“Somesayeighthundred—”
Geraltshookhishead.
“Others,”murmuredthecastellan,“talkofathousand.”
“Notmuchwhenyoubearinmindthatrumorlikestoexaggerate.Andthe
kingisofferingthreethousand.”
“Don’t forget about the betrothal,” Velerad mocked. “What are you
talkingabout?It’sobviousyouwon’tgetthethreethousand.”
“How’sitobvious?”
Velerad thumped the table. “Geralt, do not spoil my impression of
witchers! This has been going on for more than seven years! The striga is
finishing off up to fifty people a year, fewer now people are avoiding the
palace. Oh no, my friend, I believe in magic. I’ve seen a great deal and I
believe,toacertainextent,intheabilitiesofwizardsandwitchers.Butallthis
nonsense about liftingthe spell was made up by a hunchbacked,snotty old
manwho’dlosthismindonhishermit’sdiet.It’snonsensewhichnoonebut
Foltest believes. Adda gave birth to a striga because she slept with her
brother. That is the truth, and no spell will help. Now the striga devours
people—asstrigasdo—shehastobekilled,andthatisthat.Listen:twoyears
agopeasantsfromsomegodforsakenholenearMahakamwereplaguedbya
dragon devouring their sheep. They set out together, battered the dragon to
deathwithstanchions,anddidnoteventhinkitworthboastingabout.Butwe
inWyzimarewaitingforamiracleandboltingourdoorseveryfullmoon,or
tyingourcriminalstoastakeinfrontofthepalace,prayingthebeaststuffs
herselfandreturnstohersarcophagus.”
“Notabadmethod.”Thewitchersmiled.“Aretherefewercriminals?”
“Notabitofit.”
“Whichwaytothepalace,thenewone?”
16
“Iwilltakeyoumyself.Andwhataboutthewisemen’ssuggestion?”
“Castellan,”saidGeralt,“whyactinhaste?Afterall,Ireallycouldhave
anaccidentatwork,irrespectiveofmyintentions.Justincase,thewisemen
shouldbethinkingabouthowtosavemefromtheking’sangerandgetthose
fifteenhundredorens,ofwhichrumorspeaks,ready.”
“Itwastobeathousand.”
“No,LordVelerad,”thewitchersaidcategorically.“Thewitcherwhowas
offeredathousandranatthemeresightofthestriga,withoutbargaining.So
theriskisgreaterthanathousand.Whetheritisgreaterthanoneandahalf
remainstobeseen.Ofcourse,Iwillsaygoodbyebeforehand.”
“Geralt?”Veleradscratchedhishead.“Onethousandtwohundred?”
“No.Thisisn’taneasytask.Thekingisofferingthree,andsometimesit’s
easiertoliftaspellthantokill.Butoneofmypredecessorswouldhavedone
so,orkilledthestriga,ifthisweresimple.Youthinktheyletthemselvesbe
devouredoutoffearoftheking?”
“Then,witcher”—Veleradnoddedwistfully—“ouragreementstands.But
awordofadvice—saynothingtothekingaboutthedangerofanaccidentat
work.”
17
III
Foltestwasslimandhadapretty—toopretty—face.Hewasunderforty,the
witcherthought.Thekingwassittingonadwarf-armchaircarvedfromblack
wood,hislegsstretchedouttowardthehearth,wheretwodogswerewarming
themselves.Nexttohimonachestsatanolder,powerfullybuiltmanwitha
beard. Behind the king stood another man, richlydressed and witha proud
lookonhisface.Amagnate.
“A witcherfrom Rivia,” said theking after themoment’s silence which
fellafterVelerad’sintroduction.
“Yes,yourMajesty.”Geraltloweredhishead.
“What made your hair so gray? Magic? I can see that you are not old.
Thatwasajoke.Saynothing.You’vehadafairamountofexperience,Idare
presume?”
“Yes,yourMajesty.”
“Iwouldlovetohearaboutit.”
Geraltbowedevenlower.“YourMajesty,youknowourcodeofpractice
forbidsustospeakofourwork.”
“Aconvenientcode,witcher,veryconvenient.Buttellme,haveyouhad
anythingtodowithspriggans?”
“Yes.”
“Vampires,leshys?”
“Thosetoo.”
Foltesthesitated.“Strigas?”
Geraltraisedhishead,lookingthekingintheeyes.“Yes.”
Foltestturnedhiseyesaway.“Velerad!”
“Yes,GraciousMajesty?”
“Haveyougivenhimthedetails?”
“Yes,yourGraciousMajesty.Hesaysthespellcastontheprincesscanbe
reversed.”
“Ihaveknownthatforalongtime.How,witcher?Oh,ofcourse,Iforgot.
Your code of practice. All right. I will make one small comment. Several
witchers have been here already. Velerad, you have told him? Good. So I
knowthatyourspecialityistokill,ratherthantoreversespells.Thisisn’tan
option. If one hair fallsfrom mydaughter’shead, your head willbe onthe
block.Thatisall.Ostrit,LordSegelen,stayandgivehimalltheinformation
herequires.Witchersalwaysaskalotofquestions.Feedhimandlethimstay
18
inthepalace.Heisnottodriftfromtaverntotavern.”
The king rose, whistled to his dogs and made his way to the door,
scatteringthestrawcoveringthechamberfloor.Atthedoorhepaused.
“Ifyousucceed,witcher,therewardisyours.MaybeIwilladdsomething
if you do well. Of course, the nonsense spread by common folk about
marryingtheprincesscarriesnotawordoftruth.I’msureyoudon’tbelieveI
wouldgivemydaughter’shandtoastranger?”
“No,yourMajesty.Idon’t.”
“Good.Thatshowsyouhavesomewisdom.”
Foltestleft,closingthedoorbehindhim.Velerad and the magnate, who
had been standing all the while, immediately sat at the table. The castellan
finishedtheking’shalf-fullcup,peeredintothejugandcursed.Ostrit,who
took Foltest’s chair, scowled at the witcher while he stroked the carved
armrests.Segelin,thebeardedman,noddedatGeralt.
“Dosit,witcher,dosit.Supperwillsoonbeserved.Whatwouldyoulike
toknow?CastellanVeleradhasprobablyalreadytoldyoueverything.Iknow
him,hehassoonertoldyoutoomuchthantoolittle.”
“Onlyafewquestions.”
“Ask.”
“Thecastellan saidthat,after thestriga’sappearance,thekingcalledup
manyKnowingOnes.”
“That’sright.Butdon’tsaystriga,sayprincess.Itmakesiteasiertoavoid
making a mistake in the king’s presence—and any consequent
unpleasantness.”
“Was there anyone well-known among the Knowing Ones? Anyone
famous?”
“Therewere such, then and later. I don’t rememberthe names. Doyou,
LordOstrit?”
“I don’t recall,” said the magnate. “But I know some of them enjoyed
fameandrecognition.Therewasmuchtalkofit.”
“Weretheyinagreementthatthespellcanbelifted?”
“Theywerefarfromanyagreement”—Segelinsmiled—“onanysubject.
Butsuch anopinionwas expressed.Itwassupposedtobesimple,not even
requiringmagicalabilities.AsIunderstandit,itwouldsufficeforsomeoneto
spend the night—from sunset to the third crowing of the cock—by the
sarcophagus.”
“Simpleindeed,”snortedVelerad.
“Iwouldliketohearadescriptionofthe…theprincess.”
19
Velerad leapt up from his chair. “The princess looks like a striga!” he
yelled.“LikethemoststrigishstrigaIhaveheardof!HerRoyalHighness,the
cursed royal bastard, isfour cubits high, shapedlike a barrelof beer, has a
mawwhichstretchesfromeartoearandisfullofdagger-liketeeth,hasred
eyesandaredmopofhair!Herpaws,withclawslikeawildcat’s,hangdown
totheground!I’msurprisedwe’veyettosendherlikenesstofriendlycourts!
Theprincess, plaguechokeher, isalreadyfourteen. Time tothinkofgiving
herhandtoaprinceinmarriage!”
“Holdon,Velerad.”Ostritfrowned,glancingatthedoor.Segelinsmiled
faintly.
“Thedescription, althoughvivid,is reasonablyaccurate,and that’swhat
youwanted,isn’tit,witcher?Veleraddidn’tmentionthattheprincessmoves
with incredible speed and is far stronger for her height and build than one
wouldexpect.Andsheisfourteenyearsold,ifthatisofanyimportance.”
“Itis,”saidthewitcher.“Dotheattacksonpeopleonlyoccurduringthe
fullmoon?”
“Yes,”repliedSegelin,“ifsheattacksbeyondtheoldpalace.Withinthe
palacewallspeoplealwaysdie,irrespectiveofthemoon’sphase.Butsheonly
venturesoutduringthefullmoon,andnotalwaysthen.”
“Hastherebeenevenoneattackduringtheday?”
“No.”
“Doesshealwaysdevourhervictims?”
Veleradspatvehementlyonthestraw.
“Comeon,Geralt,it’llbesuppersoon.Pish!Devours,takesabite,leaves
aside,itvaries—accordingtohermood,nodoubt.Sheonlybittheheadfrom
one, gutted a couple, and a few moreshe picked clean to the bone, sucked
themdry,youcouldsay.Damnedmother’s—!”
“Careful, Velerad,” snarled Ostrit. “Say what you want about the striga
but do not insult Adda in front of me, as you would not dare in the king’s
presence!”
“Has anyone she’s attacked survived?” the witcher asked, apparently
payingnospecialattentiontothemagnate’soutburst.
SegelinandOstritlookedateachother.
“Yes,”saidthebeardedman.“Attheverybeginning,sevenyearsago,she
threwherselfattwosoldiersstandingguardoverthecrypt.Oneescaped—”
“And then,” interrupted Velerad, “there was another, the miller she
attackednearthetown.Youremember…?”
20
21
IV
The following day, late in the evening, the miller was brought to the small
chamberabovetheguardhouseallocatedto the witcher.Hewasledinby a
soldierinahoodedcoat.
The conversation did not yield any significant results. The miller was
terrified; he mumbled and stammered, and his scars told the witcher more
than he did. The striga could open her jaws impressively wide and had
extremelysharpteeth,includingverylongupperfangs—fourofthem,twoon
each side.Her claws were sharper than a wildcat’s, but less curved. And it
wasonlybecauseofthatthemillerhadmanagedtotearhimselfaway.
HavingfinishedhisexaminationGeraltnoddedtothemillerandsoldier,
dismissing them. The soldier pushed the peasant through the door and
loweredhishood.ItwasFoltesthimself.
“Sit,donotgetup,”saidtheking.“Thisvisitisunofficial.Areyouhappy
withtheinterview?Iheardyouwereatthepalacethismorning.”
“Yes,yourMajesty.”
“Whenwillyousetaboutyourtask?”
“Itisfourdaysuntilthefullmoon.Afterthat.”
“Youprefertohavealookatheryourselfbeforehand?”
“Thereisnoneed.Buthavinghadherfillthe—theprincesswillbeless
active.”
“Striga,masterwitcher,striga.Letusnotplayatdiplomacy.Shewillbea
princessafterward.Andthatis what I have come to talk about. Answer me
unofficially,brieflyandclearly:willitworkornot?Don’thidebehindyour
code.”
Geraltrubbedhisbrow.
“Iconfirm,yourMajesty,thatthespellmightbereversed.And,unlessI
am mistaken, it can be done by spending the night at the palace. The third
crowingofthecock,aslongasitcatchesthestrigaoutsidehersarcophagus,
willendthespell.Thatiswhatisusuallydonewithstrigas.”
“Sosimple?”
“It is not simple. First you have to survive the night. Then there are
exceptions to the rule, for example, not one night but three. Consecutively.
Therearealsocaseswhichare…well…hopeless.”
“Yes,” Foltest bristled. “I keep hearing that from some people. Kill the
monsterbecauseit’sanincurablecase. Masterwitcher,Iamsure they have
22
alreadyspokentoyou.AmIright?Hacktheman-eatertodeathwithoutany
more fuss, at thebeginning, and telltheking nothing else couldbe done. I
won’tpay,buttheywill.Veryconvenient.Andcheap.Becausethekingwill
order the witcher beheaded or hanged and the gold will remain in their
pockets.”
“The king unconditionally orders the witcher to be beheaded?” Geralt
grimaced.
FoltestlookedtheRivianintheeyesforalongwhile.
“Thekingdoesnotknow,”hefinallysaid.“Butthewitchershouldbear
suchaneventualityinmind.”
Geraltwassilentforamoment.“Iintendtodowhatisinmypower,”he
said.“ButifitgoesbadlyIwilldefendmylife.YourMajesty,youmustalso
bepreparedforsuchaneventuality.”
Foltestgotup.“Youdonotunderstandme.It’sobviousyou’llkillherifit
becomesnecessary,whetherIlikeitornot.Becauseotherwiseshe’llkillyou,
surelyandinevitably.Iwon’tpunishanyonewhokillsherinself-defense.But
Iwillnotallowhertobekilledwithouttryingtosaveher.Therehavealready
beenattemptstosetfiretotheoldpalace.Theyshotatherwitharrows,dug
pitsandsettrapsandsnares,untilIhungafewofherattackers.Butthatisnot
thepoint.Witcher,listen!”
“I’mlistening.”
“After the third crowing of the cock, there will be no striga, if I
understandcorrectly.Whatwilltherebe?”
“Ifallgoeswell,afourteen-year-oldgirl.”
“Withredeyes?Crocodile’steeth?”
“Anormalfourteen-year-old.Exceptthat…”
“Well?”
“Physically.”
“Isee.Andmentally?Everyday,abucketofbloodforbreakfast?Alittle
girl’sthigh?”
“No.Mentally…Thereisnotelling.Onthelevel,Ithink,ofathree-or
four-year-oldchild.She’llrequirelovingcareforalongwhile.”
“That’sobvious.Witcher?”
“I’mlistening.”
“Canithappentoheragain?Lateron?”
Geraltwassilent.
“Aha,”saidtheking.“Itcan.Andwhatthen?”
“Should she die after a long swoon lasting several days, her body will
23
havetobeburned.Quickly.”
Foltestgrewgloomy.
“Idonotthinkitwillcometothat,”addedGeralt.“Justtobesure,Iwill
giveyousomeinstructions,yourMajesty,tolessenthedanger.”
“Rightnow?Isitnottoosoon,masterwitcher?Andif—”
“Right now,” interrupted the Rivian. “Many things may happen, your
Majesty. It could be that you’ll find a princess in the morning, the spell
alreadybroken,andmycorpse.”
“Even so? Despite my permission to defend yourself? Which, it seems,
wasn’tthatimportanttoyou.”
“Thisisaseriousmatter,yourMajesty.Theriskisgreat.Thatiswhyyou
mustlisten:theprincessshouldalwayswearasapphire aroundher neck,or
better,aninclusion,onasilverchain.Dayandnight.”
“Whatisaninclusion?”
“Asapphirewithapocketofairtrappedwithinthestone.Asidefromthat,
everynowandthenyoushouldburnjuniper,broomandaspeninthefireplace
ofherchamber.”
Foltest grew pensive. “I thank you for your advice, witcher. I will pay
heedif—Andnowlistentomecarefully.Ifyoufindthecaseishopeless,kill
her.Ifyouundothespellbutthegirlisnot…normal.Ifyouhaveashadowof
a doubt as to whether you have been entirely successful, kill her. Do not
worry,youhavenothingtofearfromme.I’llshoutatyouinfrontofothers,
banish you from the palace and thetown, nothing more, Of course I won’t
giveyouthereward,butmaybeyou’llmanagetonegotiatesomethingfrom
youknowwho.”
Theywerebothquietforawhile.
“Geralt.”ForthefirsttimeFoltestcalledthewitcherbyhisname.
“Yes.”
“Howmuchtruthisthereintherumorthatthechildisassheisbecause
Addawasmysister?”
“Notmuch.Aspellhastobecast,theydon’tcastthemselves.ButIthink
yourcongresswithyoursisterwasthereasonthespellwascast,andthisis
theresult.”
“AsIthought.ThatiswhatsomeoftheKnowingOnessaid,althoughnot
allofthem.Geralt?Wheredosuchthingscomefrom?Spells,magic?”
“I don’t know, your Majesty. Knowing Ones study the causes of such
phenomena.Foruswitcherstheknowledgethatconcentratedwillcancause
suchphenomenaisenough.Thatandtheknowledgetofightthem.”
24
“Andkillthem?”
“Usually.Besides,thatiswhatwe’reusuallypaidfor.Onlyafewdemand
thereversalofspells,yourMajesty.Asarule,peoplesimplywanttodefend
themselves from danger. If the monster has men on its conscience then
revengecanalsocomeintoplay.”
The king got up, took a few paces across the chamber, and stopped in
frontofthewitcher’sswordhangingonthewall.
“Withthis?”heasked,notlookingatGeralt.
“No.Thatisformen.”
“SoIheard.Doyouknowwhat,Geralt?I’mgoingtothecryptwithyou.”
“Outofthequestion.”
Foltestturned,hiseyesglinted.“Doyouknow, sorcerer, that I have not
seenher?Neitheraftershewasborn,norlater.Iwasafraid.Imayneversee
her,amInotright?AtleastIhavetherighttoseemydaughterwhileyou’re
murderingher.”
“Irepeat,it’soutofthequestion.Itiscertaindeath.Formeaswellasyou.
Ifmyattention,mywillfalters—No,yourMajesty.”
Foltestturnedaway,startedtowardthedoor.ForamomentGeraltthought
he would leave without a word, without a parting gesture, but the king
stoppedandlookedathim.
“Youinspiretrust,”hesaid,“althoughIknowwhatarogueyouare.Iwas
toldwhat happenedatthetavern.I’msureyoukilled thosethugssolelyfor
wordtospread,toshockpeople,toshockme.It’sobviousthatyoucouldhave
dealtwiththem withoutkilling.I’mafraid I’ll neverknowwhetheryou are
going there to save my daughter, or to kill her. But I agree to it. I have to
agree.Doyouknowwhy?”
Geraltdidnotreply.
“BecauseIthink,”saidtheking,“Ithinkthatsheissuffering.AmInot
right?”
Thewitcherfixedhispenetratingeyesontheking.Hedidn’tconfirmit,
didn’tnod,didn’tmaketheslightestgesture,butFoltestknew.Heknewthe
answer.
25
V
Geralt looked out of the palace window for the last time. Dusk was falling
rapidly. Beyond the lake the distantlights of Wyzim twinkled. There wasa
wildernessaroundtheoldpalace—astripofno-man’slandwithwhich,over
seven years, the town had cut itself off from this dangerous place, leaving
nothing but a few ruins, rotten beams and the remains of a gap-toothed
palisadewhichhadobviouslynotbeenworthdismantlingandmoving.Asfar
awayas possible—attheopposite endofthe settlement—thekinghadbuilt
his new residence. The stout tower of his new palace loomed black in the
distance,againstthedarkeningblueofthesky.
Inoneoftheempty,plunderedchambers,thewitcherreturnedtothedusty
tableat which he was preparing, calmlyand meticulously. He knew he had
plentyoftime.Thestrigawouldnotleavehercryptbeforemidnight.
Onthetableinfrontofhimhehadasmallchestwithmetalfittings.He
openedit.Inside,packedtightlyincompartmentslinedwithdriedgrass,stood
smallvialsofdarkglass.Thewitcherremovedthree.
Fromthefloor,hepickedupanoblongpacketthicklywrappedinsheep’s
skins and fastened with a leather strap. He unwrapped it and pulled out a
swordwithanelaboratehilt,inablack,shinyscabbardcoveredwithrowsof
runicsignsandsymbols.Hedrewtheblade,whichlitupwithapureshineof
mirror-likebrightness.Itwaspuresilver.
Geralt whispered an incantation and drank, one after the other, the
contents of two vials, placing his left hand on the blade of the sword after
eachsip.Then,wrappinghimselftightlyinhisblackcoat,hesatdownonthe
floor.Therewerenochairsinthechamber,orintherestofthepalace.
Hesatmotionless,hiseyesclosed.Hisbreathing,atfirsteven,suddenly
quickened, became rasping and tense. And then stopped completely. The
mixture which helped the witcher gain full control of his body was chiefly
made up of veratrum, stramonium, hawthorn and spurge. The other
ingredientshad no name in any humanlanguage.Foranyone who was not,
likeGeralt,inuredtoitfromchildhood,itwouldhavebeenlethalpoison.
Thewitcherturnedhisheadabruptly.Inthesilencehishearing,sharpened
beyondmeasure,easilypickedoutarustleoffootstepsthroughthecourtyard
overgrownwithstingingnettles.Itcouldnotbethestriga.Thestepsweretoo
light.Geraltthrewhisswordacrosshisback,hidhisbundleinthehearthof
theruinedchimney-placeand,silentasabat,randownstairs.
26
Itwasstilllightenoughinthecourtyardfortheapproachingmantosee
the witcher’s face. The man, Ostrit, backed away abruptly; an involuntary
grimaceofterrorandrepulsioncontortedhislips.Thewitchersmiledwryly
—heknewwhathelookedlike.Afterdrinkingamixtureofbanewart,monk’s
hoodandeyebrightthefacetakesonthecolorofchalk,andthepupilsfillthe
entireiris.Butthemixtureenablesonetoseeinthedeepestdarkness,andthis
iswhatGeraltwanted.
Ostritquicklyregainedcontrol.
“Youlookasifyouwerealreadyacorpse,witcher,”hesaid.“Fromfear,
nodoubt.Don’tbeafraid.Ibringyoureprieve.”
Thewitcherdidnotreply.
“Don’t you hear what I say, you Rivian charlatan? You’re saved. And
rich.”OstritheftedasizeablepurseinhishandandthrewitatGeralt’sfeet.
“Athousandorens.Takeit,getonyourhorseandgetoutofhere!”
TheRivianstillsaidnothing.
“Don’tgawpatme!”Ostritraisedhisvoice.“Anddon’twastemytime.I
havenointentionofstandinghereuntilmidnight.Don’tyouunderstand?Ido
notwishyoutoundothespell.No,youhaven’tguessed.Iamnotinleague
with Velerad and Segelin. I don’t want you to kill her. You are simply to
leave.Everythingistostayasitis.”
The witcher did not move.He did not want themagnateto realize how
fasthismovementsandreactionsnowwere.Itwasquicklygrowingdark.A
relief,aseventhesemi-darknessofduskwastoobrightforhisdilatedpupils.
“And why, sir, is everything to remain as it is?” he asked, trying to
enunciateeachwordslowly.
“Now,that”—Ostritraisedhisheadproudly—“shouldreallybeofdamn
littleconcerntoyou.”
“AndwhatifIalreadyknow?”
“Goon.”
“ItwillbeeasiertoremoveFoltestfromthethroneifthestrigafrightens
the people even more? If the royal madness completely disgusts both
magnatesandcommonfolk,amIright?IcameherebywayofRedaniaand
Novigrad.ThereismuchtalktherethattherearethoseinWyzimwholookto
KingVizimirastheirsaviorandtruemonarch.ButI,LordOstrit,donotcare
aboutpolitics,orthesuccessionstothrones,orrevolutionsin palaces. I am
heretoaccomplishmytask.Haveyouneverheardofasenseofresponsibility
andplainhonesty?Aboutprofessionalethics?”
“Careful to whom you speak, you vagabond!” Ostrit yelled furiously,
27
placinghishandonthehiltofhissword.“Ihavehadenoughofthis.Iamnot
accustomedtoholdsuchdiscussions!Lookatyou—ethics,codesofpractice,
morality?! Who are you to talk? A brigand who’s barely arrived before he
starts murdering men? Who bends double to Foltest and behind his back
bargainswithVeleradlikeahiredthug?Andyoudaretoturnyournoseupat
me, you serf? Play at being a Knowing One? A Magician? You scheming
witcher!BegonebeforeIruntheflatofmyswordacrossyourgob!”
Thewitcherdidnotstir.Hestoodcalmly.
“You’dbetterleave,LordOstrit,”hesaid.“It’sgrowingdark.”
Ostrittookastepback,drewhisswordinaflash.
“Youaskedforthis,yousorcerer.I’llkillyou.Yourtrickswon’thelpyou.
Icarryaturtle-stone.”
Geralt smiled. The reputation of turtle-stone was as mistaken as it was
popular. But thewitcherwas not going tolosehis strength on spells,much
lessexposehissilverswordtocontactwithOstrit’sblade.Hedivedunderthe
whirlingbladeand,withtheheelofhishandandhissilver-studdedcuff,hit
himinthetemple.
28
VI
Ostritquicklyregainedconsciousnessandlookedaroundinthetotaldarkness.
He noticed that he wastied up.Hedid not see Geralt standing rightbeside
him.Butherealizedwherehewasandletoutaprolonged,terrifyinghowl.
“Keepquiet,”saidthewitcher.“Otherwiseyou’lllureheroutbeforeher
time.”
“You damned murderer! Where are you? Untie me immediately, you
louse!You’llhangforthis,yousonofabitch!”
“Quiet.”
Ostritpantedheavily.
“You’re leaving me here to be devoured by her! Tied up?” he asked,
quieternow,whisperingavileinvective.
“No,”saidthewitcher.“I’llletyougo.Butnotnow.”
“Youscoundrel,”hissedOstrit.“Todistractthestriga?”
“Yes.”
Ostritdidn’tsayanything.Hestoppedwrigglingandlayquietly.
“Witcher?”
“Yes.”
“It’struethatIwantedtooverthrowFoltest.I’mnottheonlyone.ButI
amtheonlyonewhowantedhimdead.Iwantedhimtodieinagony,togo
mad,torotalive.Doyouknowwhy?”
Geraltremainedsilent.
“IlovedAdda.Theking’ssister.Theking’smistress.Theking’strollop.I
lovedher—Witcher,areyouthere?”
“Iam.”
“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.Butitwasn’tlikethat.Believeme,Ididn’t
castanyspells.Idon’tknowanythingaboutmagic.OnlyonceinangerdidI
say…Onlyonce.Witcher?Areyoulistening?”
“Iam.”
“It’shismother,theoldqueen.Itmustbeher.Shecouldn’twatchhimand
Adda—Itwasn’tme.Ionlyonce,youknow,triedtopersuadethembutAdda
—Witcher!Iwasbesotted,andsaid…Witcher?Wasitme?Me?”
“Itdoesn’tmatteranymore.”
“Witcher?Isitnearlymidnight?”
“It’sclose.”
“Letmego.Givememoretime.”
29
“No.”
Ostritdidnothearthescrapeofthetomblidbeingmovedaside,butthe
witcher did. He leaned over and, with his dagger, cutthe magnate’s bonds.
Ostritdidnotwait,fortheword.Hejumpedup,numb,hobbledclumsily,and
ran.Hiseyeshadgrownaccustomedenoughtothedarknessforhimtoseehis
wayfromthemainhalltotheexit.
The slab blocking the entranceto the crypt opened and fell tothe floor
with a thud. Geralt, prudently behind the staircase balustrade, saw the
misshapenfigureofthestrigaspeedingswiftlyandunerringlyinthedirection
ofOstrit’sreceedingfootsteps.Nottheslightestsoundissuedfromthestriga.
Aterrible,quivering,frenziedscreamtorethenight,shooktheoldwalls,
continuedrisingandfalling,vibrating.Thewitchercouldn’tmakeoutexactly
howfarawayitwas—hissharpenedhearingdeceivedhim—butheknewthat
thestrigahadcaughtupwithOstritquickly.Tooquickly.
Hesteppedintothemiddleofthehall,stoodrightattheentrancetothe
crypt.Hethrewdownhiscoat,twitchedhisshoulders,adjustedthepositionof
hissword,pulledonhisgauntlets.Hestillhadsometime.Heknewthatthe
striga,althoughwellfedafterthelastfullmoon,wouldnotreadilyabandon
Ostrit’s corpse. The heart and liver were, for her, valuable reserves of
nutritionforthelongperiodsspentinlethargicsleep.
Thewitcherwaited.Byhiscount,therewereaboutthreehoursleftuntil
dawn.Thecock’scrowcouldonlymisleadhim.Besides,therewereprobably
nococksintheneighborhood.
Heheardher.Shewastrudgingslowly,shufflingalongthefloor.Andthen
hesawher.
Thedescriptionhadbeenaccurate.Thedisproportionatelylargeheadset
onashortneckwassurroundedbyatangled,curlyhaloofreddishhair.Her
eyesshoneinthedarknesslikeananimal’s.Thestrigastoodmotionless,her
gazefixedonGeralt.Suddenlysheopenedherjaws—asifproudofherrows
of pointed white teeth—then snapped them shut with a crack like a chest
beingclosed.Andleapt,slashingatthewitcherwithherbloodiedclaws.
Geralt jumped to the side, spun a swift pirouette. The striga rubbed
against him, also spun around, slicing through the air with her talons. She
didn’t lose her balance and attacked anew, mid-spin, gnashing her teeth
fractionsofaninchfromGeralt’schest.TheRivianjumpedaway,changing
thedirectionofhisspinwithaflutteringpirouettetoconfusethestriga.Ashe
leaptawayhedealtahardblowtothesideofherheadwiththesilverspikes
studdingtheknucklesofhisgauntlet.
30
Thestrigaroaredhorribly,fillingthepalacewithaboomingecho,fellto
theground,frozeandstartedtohowlhollowlyandfuriously.
The witcher smiled maliciously. Hisfirst attempt, as he had hoped, had
gonewell.Silverwasfataltothestriga,asitwasformostmonstersbrought
intoexistence throughmagic.Sotherewas achance:the beastwaslikethe
others,andthatbodedwellforliftingthespell,whilethesilverswordwould,
asalastresort,assurehislife.
Thestrigawasinnohurrywithhernextattack.Sheapproachedslowly,
baring her fangs, dribbling repulsively. Geralt backed away and, carefully
placing his feet, traced a semi-circle. By slowing and quickening his
movementshedistractedthestriga,makingitdifficultforhertoleap.Ashe
walked,thewitcherunwoundalong,strongsilverchain,weightedattheend.
Themomentthestrigatensedandleaptthechainwhistledthroughtheair
and,coilinglikeasnake,twineditselfaroundthemonster’sshoulders,neck
andhead.Thestriga’sjumpbecameatumble,andsheletoutanear-piercing
whistle.Shethrashedaroundonthefloor,howlinghorriblywithfuryorfrom
the burning pain inflicted by the despised metal. Geralt was content—if he
wantedhecouldkillthestrigawithoutgreatdifficulty.Butthewitcherdidnot
draw his sword. Nothing in the striga’s behavior had given him reason to
thinkshemightbeanincurable case. Geralt moved to a safer distanceand,
without letting the writhing shape on the floor out of his sight, breathed
deeply,focusedhimself.
The chain snapped. The silver links scattered like rain in all directions,
ringingagainst the stone. The striga, blindwith fury,tumbledto the attack,
roaring.Geraltwaitedcalmlyand,withhisraisedrighthand,tracedtheSign
ofAardinfrontofhim.
The striga fell back as if hitby amallet butkept herfeet, extendedher
talons, bared her fangs. Her hair stood on end and fluttered as if she were
walkingagainstafiercewind.Withdifficulty,oneraspingstepatatime,she
slowlyadvanced.Butshedidadvance.
Geraltgrewuneasy.HedidnotexpectsuchasimpleSigntoparalyzethe
strigaentirelybutneitherdidheexpectthebeasttoovercomeitsoeasily.He
couldnotholdtheSignforlong,itwastooexhausting,andthestrigahadno
morethan tenstepsto go.HeloweredtheSign suddenly,andsprung aside.
Thestriga, takenbysurprise, flewforward,lostherbalance,fell,slidalong
thefloorandtumbleddownthestairsintothecrypt’sentrance,yawninginthe
floor.
Herinfernalscreamreverberatedfrombelow.
31
TogaintimeGeraltjumpedontothestairsleadingtothegallery.Hehad
notevenclimbed halfwayupwhenthe striga ranoutofthe crypt, speeding
alonglikeanenormousblackspider.Thewitcherwaiteduntilshehadrunup
the stairs after him, thenleaptover the balustrade. Thestriga turnedon the
stairs,sprangandflewathiminanamazingten-meterleap.Shedidnotlet
herselfbedeceivedbyhispirouettesthistime;twicehertalonslefttheirmark
on the Rivian’s leather tunic. But another desperately hard blow from the
silver spiked gauntlet threw the striga aside, shook her. Geralt, feeling fury
buildinginsidehim,swayed,bentbackwardand,withamightykick,knocked
thebeastoffherlegs.
Theroarshegavewaslouderthanallthepreviousones.Eventheplaster
crumbledfromtheceiling.
Thestrigasprangup,shakingwithuncontrolledangerandlustformurder.
Geraltwaited.Hedrewhissword,tracedcircleswithitintheair,andskirted
thestriga,takingcarethatthemovementofhisswordwasnotinrhythmwith
his steps. The striga did not jump. She approached slowly, following the
brightstreakofthebladewithhereyes.
Geralt stopped abruptly, froze with his sword raised. The striga,
disconcerted, also stopped. The witcher traced a slow semi-circle with the
blade, took a step in the striga’s direction. Then another. Then he leapt,
feigningawhirlingmovementwithhisswordaboveherhead.
The striga curled up, retreated in a zigzag. Geralt was close again, the
bladeshimmeringinhishand.Hiseyeslitupwithanominousglow,ahoarse
roartorethroughhisclenchedteeth.Thestrigabacked away,pushedbythe
powerof concentrated hatred, anger and violence which emanated from the
attacking man and struck her in waves, penetrating her mind and body.
Terrified andpained by feelingsunknown to hershe let out a thin, shaking
squeak,turnedonthespotandranoffinadesperate,crazyescapedownthe
darktangleofthepalace’scorridors.
Geraltstoodquiveringinthemiddleofthehall.Alone.Ithadtakenalong
time,hethought,beforethisdanceontheedgeofanabyss,thismad,macabre
balletofafight,hadachievedthedesiredeffect,allowedhimtopsychically
becomeonewithhisopponent,toreachtheunderlayersofconcentratedwill
whichpermeatedthestriga.Theevil,twistedwillfromwhichthestrigawas
born.Thewitchershiveredatthememoryoftakingonthateviltoredirectit,
asifinamirror,againstthemonster.Neverbeforehadhecomeacrosssucha
concentrationof hatredandmurderous frenzy,noteven frombasilisks,who
enjoyedaferociousreputationforit.
32
Allthebetter,hethoughtashewalkedtowardthecryptentranceandthe
blacknessthatspreadfromitlikeanenormouspuddle.Allthebetter,allthe
stronger, was the blow received by the striga. This would give him a little
more time until the beast recovered from the shock. The witcher doubted
whetherhecouldrepeatsuchaneffort.Theelixirswereweakeninganditwas
stillalongtimeuntildawn.Butthestrigacouldnotreturntohercryptbefore
firstlight,orallhistroublewouldcometonothing.
He went down the stairs. The crypt was not large; there was room for
three stone sarcophagi. The slab covering the first was half pushed aside.
Geraltpulledthethirdvialfrombeneathhistunic,quicklydrankitscontents,
climbedinto the tomb and stretched outin it.As hehad expected,it was a
doubletomb—formotheranddaughter.
Hehadonlyjustpulledthecoverclosedwhenheheardthestriga’sroar
again.He lay on his back next to Adda’s mummifiedcorpse and traced the
SignofYrdenontheinsideoftheslab.Helaidhisswordonhischest,stooda
tinyhourglassfilledwithphosphorescentsandnexttoitandcrossedhisarms.
Heno longer heard the striga’sscreams as she searched the palace. He had
gradually stopped hearing anything as the true-love and celandine began to
work.
33
VII
When Geralt opened his eyes, the sand had passed through the hourglass,
whichmeanthissleephadbeenevenlongerthanhehadintended.Hepricked
uphisears,andheardnothing.Hissenseswerenowfunctioningnormally.
He took hold ofhis sword and, murmuringan incantation, ran hishand
acrossthelidofthesarcophagus.Hethenmovedtheslabslightly,acoupleof
inches.
Silence.
Hepushedthelidfurther,sat,holdinghisweaponattheready,andlifted
his head above the tomb. The crypt was dark but the witcher knew that
outsidedawnwasbreaking.Hestruckalight,litaminiaturelampandlifted
it,throwingstrangeshadowsacrossthewallsofthecrypt.
Itwasempty.
Hescrambledfromthesarcophagus,aching,numb,cold.Andthenhesaw
her.Shewaslyingonherbacknexttothetomb,nakedandunconscious.
Shewasratherugly.Slimwithsmallpointedbreasts,anddirty.Herhair—
flaxen-red—reached almost to her waist. Standing the lamp on the slab, he
kneltbesideherandleanedover.Herlipswerepaleandherfacewasbloody
where he had hit her cheekbone. Geralt removed his gloves, put his sword
aside and, without any fuss, drew up her top lip with his finger. Her teeth
werenormal.Hereachedforherhand,whichwasburiedinhertangledhair.
Beforehetookithesawheropeneyes.Toolate.
Sheswipedhimacrosstheneckwithhertalons,cuttinghimdeeply.Blood
splashedonto her face. She howled, striking him in theeyes with herother
hand.Hefellonher,grabbingherbythewrists,nailinghertothefloor.She
gnashedherteeth—whichwerenowtooshort—infrontofhisface.Hebutted
herinthefacewithhisforeheadandpinnedherdownharder.Shehadlosther
former strength; she could only writhe beneath him, howling, spitting out
blood—his blood—which was pouring over her mouth. His blood was
draining away quickly. There was no time. The witcher cursed and bit her
hardontheneck,justbelowtheear.Hedughisteethinandclenchedthem
until her inhuman howling became a thin, despairing scream and then a
chokingsob—thecryofahurtfourteen-year-oldgirl.
Helethergowhenshestoppedmoving,gottohisknees,toreapieceof
canvasfromhissleevepocketandpressedittohisneck.Hefeltforhissword,
heldthebladetotheunconsciousgirl’sthroat,andleanedoverherhand.The
34
nailsweredirty,broken,bloodiedbut…normal.Completelynormal.
The witcher got up with difficulty. The sticky-wet grayness of early
morning was flooding in through the crypt’s entrance. He made a move
towardthestairsbutstaggeredandsatdownheavilyonthefloor.Bloodwas
pouringthroughthedrenchedcanvasontohishands,runningdownhissleeve.
He unfastened his tunic, slit his shirt, tore and ripped rags from it and tied
themaroundhisneck,knowingthathedidn’thavemuchtime,thathewould
soonfaint…
Hesucceeded.Andfainted.
InWyzim,beyondthelake,acock,rufflinghisfeathersinthecolddamp,
crowedhoarselyforthethirdtime.
35
VIII
Hesawthe whitened wallsandbeamedceiling of thesmallchamberabove
the guardroom. He moved his head, grimacing with pain, and moaned. His
neckwasbandaged,thickly,thoroughly,professionally.
“Liestill,witcher,”saidVelerad.“Lie,donotmove.”
“My…sword…”
“Yes, yes. Of course, what is most important is your witcher’s silver
sword.It’s here, don’tworry. Both the sword and your littletrunk.Andthe
threethousandorens.Yes,yes,don’tutteraword.ItisIwhoamanoldfool
andyouthewisewitcher.Foltesthasbeenrepeatingitoverandoverforthe
lasttwodays.”
“Two—”
“Oh yes, two. She slit your neck open quite thoroughly. One could see
everythingyouhaveinsidethere.Youlostagreatdealofblood.Fortunately
wehurriedtothepalacestraightafterthethirdcrowingofthecock.Nobody
sleptinWyzimthatnight.Itwasimpossible;youmadeaterriblenoise.Does
mytalkingtireyou?”
“Theprin…cess?”
“The princess is like a princess. Thin. And somewhat dull-witted. She
weepsincessantlyandwetsherbed.ButFoltestsaysthiswillchange.Idon’t
thinkit’llchangefortheworse,doyou,Geralt?”
Thewitcherclosedhiseyes.
“Good.Itakemyleavenow.Rest.”Veleradgotup.“Geralt?BeforeIgo,
tellme:whydidyoutrytobitehertodeath?Eh?Geralt?”
Thewitcherwasasleep.
36
THEVOICEOFREASON
37
I
“Geralt.”
Heraisedhishead,tornfromsleep.Thesunwasalreadyhighandforced
blinding golden rays through the shutters, penetrating the chamber with
tentacles of light. The witcher shaded his eyes with his hand in an
unnecessary,instinctivereflexwhichhehadnevermanagedtoshakeoff—all
heneededtodo,afterall,wasnarrowhispupilsintoverticalslits.
“It’slate,”saidNenneke,openingtheshutters.“You’vesleptin.Offwith
you,Iola.”
Thegirlsatupsuddenlyandleanedoutofbedtotakehermantlefromthe
floor. Geralt feltatrickleofcoolsaliva on his shoulder, where her lips had
beenamomentago.
“Wait…”hesaidhesitantly.Shelookedathim,quicklyturnedaway.
Shehadchanged.Therewasnothingofthewaternymphinheranymore,
nothingoftheluminous,chamomile-scentedapparitionshehadbeenatdawn.
Her eyes were blue, not black. And she had freckles—on her nose, her
neckline, her shoulders. They weren’t unattractive; they suited her
complexionandreddishhair.Buthehadn’tseenthematdawn,whenshehad
been his dream. With shame he realized he felt resentment toward her,
resentmentthatshehadn’tremainedadream,andthathewouldneverforgive
himselfforit.
“Wait,”herepeated.“Iola…Iwanted—”
“Don’t speak to her, Geralt,” said Nenneke. “She won’t answer you
anyway.Offwithyou,Iola.”
Wrapped in her mantle, the girl pattered toward the door, her bare feet
slappingthefloor—troubled,flushed,awkward.Nolongerremindinghim,in
anyway,of—
Yennefer.
“Nenneke,”hesaid,reachingforhisshirt.“Ihopeyou’renotannoyedthat
—Youwon’tpunishher,willyou?”
“Fool,” the priestess snorted. “You’ve forgotten where you are. This is
neitherahermitagenoraconvent.It’sMelitele’stemple.Ourgoddessdoesn’t
forbidourpriestessesanything.Almost.”
“Youforbademetotalktoher.”
“Ididn’tforbidyou.ButIknowit’spointless.Ioladoesn’tspeak.”
“What?”
38
“She doesn’t speak. She’s taken a vow. It’s a sort of sacrifice through
which… Oh, what’s the point of explaining; you wouldn’t understand
anyway.Youwouldn’teventrytounderstand.Iknowyourviewsonreligion.
No,don’tgetdressedyet.Iwanttocheckyourneck.”
Shesatontheedgeofthebedandskillfullyunwoundthelinenbandages
wrappedthicklyaroundthewitcher’sneck.Hegrimacedinpain.
AssoonashehadarrivedinEllander,Nennekehadremovedthepainfully
thick stitches of shoemaker’s twine with which they had stitched him in
Wyzim,openedthewoundanddresseditagain.Theresultswereclear:hehad
arrivedatthetemplealmostcured,ifperhapsalittlestiff.Nowhewassick
again,andinpain.Buthedidn’tprotest.He’dknownthepriestessforyears
and knew how great was her knowledge of healing, how rich and
comprehensiveherpharmacywas.AcourseoftreatmentatMelitele’stemple
coulddonothingbutgood.
Nennekefeltthewound,washeditandbegantocurse.Healreadyknew
this routine by heart. She had started on the very first day, and had never
failedtomoanwhenshesawthemarksleftbytheprincessofWyzim’stalons.
“It’s terrible! To let yourself be slashed like this by an ordinary striga.
Muscles,tendons—sheonlyjustmissedyourcarotidartery!Great Melitele!
Geralt,what’shappeningtoyou?Howdidshegetsoclosetoyou?Whatdid
youwantwithher?Tomounther?”
Hedidn’tanswer,andsmiledfaintly.
“Don’tgrinlikeanidiot.”Thepriestessroseandtookabagofdressings
from the chest of drawers. Despite her weight and low stature, she moved
swiftly and gracefully. “There’s nothing funny about it. You’re losing your
reflexes,Geralt.”
“You’reexaggerating.”
“I’mnotexaggeratingatall.”Nennekespreadagreenish mushsmelling
sharplyofeucalyptusoverthewound.“Youshouldn’thaveallowedyourself
to get wounded, but you did, and very seriously at that. Fatally even. And
evenwithyourexceptionalpowersofregenerationit’llbemonthsbeforeyour
neckisfullymobileagain.Iwarnyou,don’ttestyourstrengthbyfightingan
agileopponentduringthattime.”
“Thankyouforthewarning.Perhapsyoucouldgivemesomeadvice,too:
howamIsupposedtoliveinthemeantime?Rallyafewgirls,buyacartand
organizeatravelinghouseofill-repute?”
Nennekeshrugged,bandaginghisneckwithquick,deftmovements.“Am
Isupposedtogiveyouadviceandteachyouhowtolive?AmIyourmother
39
orsomething?Right,that’sdone.Youcangetdressed.Breakfast’swaitingfor
you in the refectory. Hurry up or you’ll have to make it yourself. I don’t
intendtokeepthegirlsinthekitchentomidday.”
“WherewillIfindyoulater?Inthesanctuary?”
“No.” Nenneke got up. “Not in the sanctuary. You’re a welcome guest
here,witcher,butdon’thangaroundinthesanctuary.Goforawalk,andI’ll
findyoumyself.”
“Fine.”
40
II
Geralt strolled—for the fourth time—alongthe poplar alley which ledfrom
the gate to the dwellings by the sanctuary and main temple block, which
merged into the sheer rock. After brief consideration he decided against
returningtoshelter,andturnedtowardthegardensandoutbuildings.Umpteen
priestesses, clad in gray working garments, were toiling away, weeding the
beds and feeding the birds in the henhouses. The majority of them were
young or very young,virtuallychildren. Some greeted him withanod or a
smile in passing. He answered their greetings but didn’t recognize any of
them.Althoughheoftenvisitedthetemple—onceoreventwiceayear—he
neversawmorethanthreeorfourfacesheknew.Thegirlscameandwent—
becoming oracles in other temples, midwives and healers specializing in
women’sandchildren’sdiseases,wanderingdruids,teachersorgovernesses.
Buttherewasneverashortageofpriestesses,arrivingfromallover,eventhe
remotestregions.Melitele’stempleinEllanderwaswell-knownandenjoyed
well-earnedfame.
ThecultofMelitelewasoneoftheoldestand,initsday,oneofthemost
widespread cults from time immemorial. Practically every pre-human race
andeveryprimordialnomadichumantribehonoredagoddessofharvestand
fertility, a guardian of farmers and gardeners, a patroness of love and
marriage.ManyofthesereligionsmergedintothecultofMelitele.
Time,whichwasquitepitilesstowardotherreligionsandcults,effectively
isolating them in forgotten, rarely visited little temples and oratories buried
among urban buildings, had proved merciful to Melitele. She did not lack
either followers or sponsors. In explaining the popularity of the goddess,
learnedmenwhostudiedthisphenomenonusedtoharkbacktothepre-cults
of the Great Mother, Mother Nature, and pointed to the links with nature’s
cycle, with the rebirth of lifeand other grandiloquently namedphenomena.
Geralt’s friend, the troubadour Dandilion, who enjoyed a reputation as a
specialistineverypossiblefield,lookedforsimplerexplanations.Melitele’s
cult, he deduced, was a typical woman’s cult. Melitele was, after all, the
patroness of fertility and birth; she was the guardian of midwives. And a
womaninlaborhastoscream.Apartfromtheusualcries—usuallypromising
nevertogiveherselftoanybloodymaneveragaininherlife—awomanin
laborhastocalluponsomegodheadforhelp,andMelitelewasperfect.And
since women gave birth, give birth and will continue to give birth, the
41
goddessMelitele,thepoetproved,didnothavetofearforherpopularity.
“Geralt.”
“Nenneke.Iwaslookingforyou.”
“Me?”Thepriestesslookedathimmockingly.“NotIola?”
“Iola,too,”headmitted.“Doesthatbotheryou?”
“Rightnow,yes.Idon’twantyoutogetinherwayanddistracther.She’s
gottogetherselfreadyandprayifsomething’stocomeofthistrance.”
“I’vealreadytoldyou,”hesaidcoldly,“Idon’twantanytrance.Idon’t
thinkatrancewillhelpmeinanyway.”
“WhileI”—Nennekewinced—“don’tthinkatrancewillharmyouinany
way.”
“Ican’tbehypnotized.Ihaveimmunity.I’mafraidforIola.Itmightbe
toogreataneffortforamedium.”
“Iola isn’t a medium or a mentally ill soothsayer. That child enjoys the
goddess’sfavor.Don’tpullsillyfaces,ifyouplease.AsIsaid,yourviewon
religionisknowntome,it’sneverparticularlybotheredmeand,nodoubt,it
won’tbothermeinthefuture.I’mnotafanatic.You’vearighttobelievethat
we’regovernedbyNatureandtheForcehiddenwithinher.Youcanthinkthat
the gods, includingmy Melitele, are merelya personification of this power
inventedforsimpletonssotheycanunderstanditbetter,acceptitsexistence.
Accordingtoyou,thatpowerisblind.Butforme,Geralt,faithallowsyouto
expectwhat mygoddesspersonifies fromnature:order,law, goodness.And
hope.”
“Iknow.”
“Ifyouknowthat,thenwhyyourreservationsaboutthetrance?Whatare
you afraid of? That I’ll make you bow your head to a statue and sing
canticles?Geralt,we’llsimplysit togetherforawhile—you,meandIola—
and see if the girl’s talents will let her see into the vortex of power
surrounding you. Maybe we’ll discover something worth knowing. And
maybe we won’t discoveranything. Maybe the power and fate surrounding
you won’t choose to reveal themselves to us, will remain hidden and
incomprehensible.Idon’tknow.Butwhyshouldn’twetry?”
“Becausethere’snopoint.I’mnotsurroundedbyanyvortexorfate.And
ifIwere,whythehellwouldIdelveintoit?”
“Geralt,you’resick.”
“Injured,youmean.”
“IknowwhatImean.There’ssomethingnotquiterightwithyou. Ican
sense that. After all, I have known you ever since you were a youngster.
42
When I met you, you came up to my waist. And now I feel that you’re
spinningaroundinsomedamnedwhirlpool,tangledupinaslowlytightening
noose.Iwanttoknowwhat’shappening.ButIcan’tdoitmyself.Ihaveto
countonIola’sgifts.”
“Youwanttodelvetoodeeply.Whythemetaphysics?I’llconfideinyou,
ifyoulike.I’llfillyoureveningswithtales ofever moreastoundingevents
fromthepastfewyears.Getakegofbeersomythroatdoesn’tdryupandwe
canstarttoday.ButIfearI’llboreyoubecauseyouwon’tfindanynoosesor
vortexesthere.Justawitcher’sordinarytales.”
“I’llwillinglylistentothem.Butatrance,Irepeat,woulddonoharm.”
“Don’t you think”—he smiled—“that my lack of faith makes such a
trancepointless?”
“No,Idon’t.Anddoyouknowwhy?”
“No.”
Nennekeleanedoverandlookedhimintheeyeswithastrangesmileon
herpalelips.
“BecauseitwouldbethefirstproofI’veeverheardofthatalackoffaith
hasanykindofpoweratall.”
43
AGRAINOFTRUTH
44
I
Anumberofblackpointsmovingagainstabrightskystreakedwithmistdrew
the witcher’s attention. Birds. They wheeled in slow, peaceful circles, then
suddenlyswoopedandsoaredupagain,flappingtheirwings.
Thewitcherobservedthebirdsforalongtime,then—bearinginmindthe
shapeoftheland,densityofthewood,depthandcourseoftheravinewhich
hesuspectedlayinhispath—calculatedthedistancetothem,andhowlong
hewouldtake to cover it. Finally he threw aside his coat and tightened the
beltacrosshischestbytwoholes.Thepommelandhiltoftheswordstrapped
acrosshisbackpeekedoverhisshoulder.
“We’ll go a little out of our way, Roach,”he said. “We’ll take a detour
fromthehighway.Idon’tthinkthebirdsarecirclingtherefornothing.”
Themarewalkedon,obedienttoGeralt’svoice.
“Maybe it’s just a dead elk,” said Geralt. “But maybe it’s not. Who
knows?”
Therewasaravine,ashehadsuspected;thewitcherscannedthecrowns
ofthetreestightlyfillingtherift.Butthesidesofthegullyweregentle,the
riverbed dry and clear of blackthorns and rotting tree trunks. He crossed it
easily.Ontheothersidewasacopseofbirches,andbehinditalargeglade,
heathandundergrowth,whichthrewtentaclesoftangledbranchesandroots
upward.
The birds, scared away by the appearance of a rider, soared higher,
croakingsharplyintheirhoarsevoices.
Geraltsawthefirstcorpseimmediately—thewhiteofthesheepskinjacket
and matt-blue of the dress stood out clearly against a yellowing clump of
sedge.Hedidn’tseethesecondcorpsebutitslocationwasbetrayedbythree
wolves sitting calmly on their haunches watching the witcher. His mare
snorted and the wolves, as if at a command, unhurriedly trotted into the
woods, every now and again turning their triangular heads to watch the
newcomer.Geraltjumpedoffhishorse.
The woman in the sheepskin and blue dress had no face or throat, and
mostofherleftthighhadgone.Thewitcher,notleaningover,walkedbyher.
Themanlaywithhisfacetotheground.Geraltdidn’tturnthebodyover,
seeingthatthewolvesandbirdshadn’tbeenidle.Andtherewasnoneedto
examinethecorpseindetail—theshouldersandbackofthewoollendoublet
were covered with thick blackrivuletsof dried blood. Itwasclear the man
45
haddiedfrom ablowtothe neck,andthewolves hadonlyfoundthe body
afterward.
Onawidebeltnexttoashortcutlassinawoodensheaththemanworea
leatherpurse.Thewitchertoreitoffand,itembyitem,threwthecontentson
thegrass:atinderbox,apieceofchalk,sealing-wax,ahandfulofsilvercoins,
a folding shaving-knifewith a bone handle, a rabbit’s ear, threekeys and a
talisman with a phallic symbol. Two letters, written on canvas, were damp
with rain and dew, smudged beyond readability. The third, written on
parchment, was also ruined by damp, but still legible. It was a credit note
madeoutbythedwarves’bankinMuriveltoamerchantcalledRulleAsper,
orAspen.Itwasn’tforalargesum.
Bendingover,Geraltliftedtheman’srighthand.Ashehadexpected,the
copper ring digging into the swollen, blue finger carried the sign of the
armorers’guild:astylizedhelmetwithvisor,twocrossedswordsandtherune
“A”engravedbeneaththem.
Thewitcherreturnedtothewoman’scorpse.Ashewasturningthebody
over,somethingprickedhim in thefinger—arose,pinned to thedress.The
flowerhadwitheredbutnotlostitscolor:thepetalsweredarkblue,verydark
blue. It was the first time Geralt had seen such a rose. He turned the body
overcompletely,andwinced.
On the woman’s bare and bloody neck were clear bite marks. And not
thoseofawolf.
Thewitchercarefullybackedawaytohishorse.Withouttakinghiseyes
fromtheforestedge,heclimbedintothesaddle.Hecircledthegladetwice
and,leaningover,lookedaround,examiningthegroundclosely.
“So, Roach,” hesaid quietly, “the caseis reasonably clear. The armorer
and the woman arrived on horseback from thedirection of theforest. They
wereontheirwayhomefromMurivel,becausenobodycarriesanuncashed
credit note for long. Why they were going this way and not following the
highway?Idon’tknow.Buttheywerecrossingtheheath,sidebyside.And
then—again, I don’t know why—they both dismounted, or fell from, their
horses. The armorer died instantly. The woman ran, then fell anddied, and
whateverattackedher—whichdidn’tleaveanytracks—draggedheralongthe
ground,withherthroatinitsteeth.Thehorsesranoff.Thishappenedtwoor
threedaysago.”
Themaresnortedrestlessly,reactingtohistoneofvoice.
“The thing which killed them,” continued Geralt, watching the forest’s
edge,“wasneitherawerewolfnoraleshy.Neitherwouldhaveleftsomuch
46
forthescavengers.IftherewereswampshereI’dsayitwasakikimoraora
vypper…buttherearen’tanyswampshere.”
Leaning over, the witcher pulled back the blanket which covered the
horse’s side and uncovered another sword strapped to the saddlebag—one
withashining,ornateguardandblackcorrugatedhilt.
“Well, Roach. We’re taking a roundabout route; we’d better check why
this armorer and woman were riding through the forest, not along the
highway.Ifwepassbyignoringsuchincidents,wewon’teverearnenough
foryouroats,willwe?”
The mare obediently moved forward, across the heath, carefully
sidesteppinghollows.
“Although it’s not a werewolf, we won’t take any risks,” the witcher
continued,takingabunchofdriedmonksheadfromasaddlebagandhanging
itbythebit.Themaresnorted.Geraltunlacedhistunicalittleandpulledout
amedallionengravedwithawolfwithbaredjaws.Themedallion,hangingon
asilverchain,bobbedupanddowninrhythmtothehorse’sgait,sparklingin
thesun’srayslikemercury.
47
II
Henoticedtheredtilesofthetower’sconicalrooffromthesummitofahill
ashecutacrossabendinthefainttrail.Theslope,coveredwithhazel,dry
branches and a thick carpet of yellow leaves, wasn’t safe to descend on
horseback. The witcher retreated, carefully rode down the incline and
returnedtothemainpath.Herodeslowly,stoppedthehorseeverynowand
againand,hangingfromthesaddle,lookedoutfortracks.
The mare tossed her head, neighed wildly, stamped and danced on the
path,kickingupastormofdriedleaves.Geralt,wrappinghisleftarmaround
the horse’s neck, swept his right hand—the fingers arranged in the Sign of
Axia—overthemount’sheadashewhisperedanincantation.
“Is it as bad as all that?” he murmured, looking around and not
withdrawingtheSign.“Easy,Roach,easy.”
The charm worked quickly but the mare, prodded with his heel, moved
forwardreluctantly,losingthenaturalspringyrhythmofhergait.Thewitcher
jumpednimblytothegroundandwentonbyfoot,leadingherbythebridle.
Hesawawall.
Therewasnogapbetweenthewallandtheforest,nodistinctbreak.The
youngtreesandjuniperbushestwinedtheirleaveswiththeivyandwildvines
clingingtothestonework.Geraltlookedup.Atthatsamemoment,hefelta
pricklealong hisneck,asifan invisible,softcreaturehadlatchedontohis
neck,liftingthehairsthere.
Hewasbeingwatched.
He turned around smoothly. Roach snorted; the muscles in her neck
twitched,movedunderherskin.
Agirlwasstandingontheslopeofthehillhehadjustclimbeddown,one
armrestingonthetrunkofanaldertree.Hertrailingwhitedresscontrasted
withtheglossyblacknessofherdisheveledhair,fallingtohershoulders.She
seemedtobesmiling,butshewastoofarawaytobesure.
“Greetings,”hesaid,raisinghishandinafriendlygesture.Hetookastep
toward the girl. She turned her head a little, following his movements. Her
facewaspale,hereyesblackandenormous.Thesmile—ifithadbeenasmile
—vanished from her face as though wiped away with a cloth. Geralt took
anotherstep,theleavesrustledunderfoot,andthegirlrandowntheslopelike
adeer,flittingbetweenthehazelbushes.Shewasnomorethanawhitestreak
asshedisappearedintothedepthsoftheforest.Thelongdressdidn’tappear
48
torestricthereaseofmovementintheleast.
Roach neighed anxiously, tossing her head. Geralt, still watching the
forest,instinctivelycalmedherwiththeSignagain.Pullingthemarebythe
bridle, he walkedslowly along the wall, wading through burdock upto the
waist.
He came to a sturdy gate, with iron fittings and rusty hinges, furnished
with a great brass knocker. After a moment’s hesitation Geralt reached out
and touched the tarnished ring. He immediately jumped back as, at that
moment, the gate opened,squeaking,clattering, and raking asideclumpsof
grass, stones and branches. There was no one behind it—the witcher could
only see a deserted courtyard, neglected and overgrown with nettles. He
entered,leadingRoach.Themare,stillstunnedbytheSign,didn’tresist,but
shemovedstifflyandhesitantlyafterhim.
Thecourtyardwassurroundedonthreesidesbyawallandtheremainsof
some wooden scaffolding. On the fourth side stood the mansion, its façade
mottledbyapoxofchippedplaster,dirtydamppatches,andfestoonedwith
ivy.Theshutters,withtheirpeelingpaint,wereclosed,aswasthedoor.
GeraltthrewRoach’sreinsoverthepillarbythegateandslowlymadehis
waytowardthemansion,followingthegravelpathpastasmallfountainfull
of leaves and rubbish. In the center of the fountain, on a fanciful plinth, a
whitestonedolphinarched,turningitschippedtailupward.
Nexttothefountaininwhat,averylongtimeago,usedtobeaflowerbed,
grewarosebush.Nothingbutthecoloroftheflowersmadethisbushunique
—buttheflowerswereexceptional:indigo,withafaintshadeofpurpleonthe
tipsofsomeofthepetals.Thewitchertouchedone,brought hisfacecloser
and inhaled. The flowers held the typical scent of roses, only a little more
intense.
Thedoorandalltheshuttersofthemansionflewopenatthesameinstant
withabang.Geraltraisedhisheadabruptly.Downthepath,scrunchingthe
gravel,amonsterwasrushingstraightathim.
The witcher’s right hand rose, as fast as lightning, above his right
shoulderwhilehisleftjerkedthebeltacrosshischest,makingtheswordhilt
jumpintohispalm.Theblade,leapingfromthescabbardwithahiss,traceda
short,luminoussemi-circleandfroze,thepointaimingatthechargingbeast.
Atthesightofthesword,themonsterstoppedshort,sprayinggravelinall
directions.Thewitcherdidn’tevenflinch.
Thecreaturewashumanoid,anddressedinclotheswhich,thoughtattered,
wereofgoodqualityandnotlackinginstylishanduselessornamentation.His
49
humanform, however,reachedno higherthanthe soiledcollarof histunic,
for above it loomed a gigantic, hairy, bear-like head with enormous ears, a
pair of wild eyes and terrifying jaws full of crooked fangs in which a red
tongueflickeredlikeflame.
“Flee,mortalman!”themonsterroared,flappinghispawsbutnotmoving
fromthespot.“I’lldevouryou!Tearyoutopieces!”Thewitcherdidn’tmove,
didn’t lower his sword. “Are you deaf? Away with you!” The creature
screamed,thenmadeasoundsomewherebetweenapig’ssquealandastag’s
bellowingroar,makingtheshuttersrattleandclatterandshakingrubbleand
plasterfromthesills.Neitherwitchernormonstermoved.
“Clearoffwhileyou’restillinonepiece!”roaredthecreature,lesssureof
himself.“Becauseifyoudon’t,then—”
“Thenwhat?”interruptedGeralt.
The monster suddenly gasped and tilted his monstrous head. “Look at
him, isn’t he brave?” He spoke calmly, baring his fangs and glowering at
Geraltwithbloodshoteyes.“Lowerthatiron,ifyou please.Perhapsyou’ve
notrealizedyou’reinmycourtyard?Ormaybeit’scustomary,whereveryou
comefrom,tothreatenpeoplewithswordsintheirowncourtyards?”
“Itiscustomary,”Geraltagreed,“whenfacedwithpeoplewhogreettheir
guestswitharoarandthecrythatthey’regoingtotearyoutopieces.”
“Poxonit!”Themonstergothimselfworkedup.“Andhe’llinsultmeon
topofitall,thisstraggler.Aguest,ishe?Pusheshiswayintotheyard,ruins
someoneelse’sflowers,playsthelordandthinksthathe’llbebroughtbread
andsalt.Bah!”
Thecreaturespat, gasped and shuthisjaws.Thelower fangs protruded,
makinghimlooklikeaboar.
“So?” The witcher spoke after a moment, lowering his sword. “Are we
goingtocarryonstandinglikethis?”
“And what do you suggest instead? Lying down?” snorted the monster.
“Putthatironaway,Isaid.”
The witcher nimbly slipped the weapon into its scabbard and, without
loweringhisarm,strokedthehiltwhichroseabovehisshoulder.
“I’dpreferyou,”hesaid,“nottomakeanysuddenmoves.Thisswordcan
alwaysbedrawnagain,fasterthanyouimagine.”
“Inoticed,”raspedthemonster.“Ifitwasn’tforthat,you’dhavebeenout
of this gatea long timeago, with my bootprint on your arse. What do you
wanthere?Howdidyougethere?”
“Igotlost,”liedthewitcher.
50
“Yougotlost,”repeatedthemonster,twistinghisjawsinamenacinggrin.
“Well,unloseyourway.Outofthegate,turnyourlefteartothesunandkeep
walkingandyou’llsoongetbacktothehighway.Well?Whatareyouwaiting
for?”
“Isthere anywater?”asked Geraltcalmly. “Thehorseisthirsty.Andso
amI,ifthatdoesn’tinconvenienceyou.”
The monster shifted from one foot to the other and scratched his ear.
“Listenyou,”hesaid.“Areyoureallynotfrightenedofme?”
“ShouldIbe?”
Themonsterlookedaround,clearedhisthroatandyanked up his baggy
trousers.
“Poxonit,what’stheharmofaguestinthehouse?It’snoteverydayI
meet someone who doesn’t run away or faint at the sight of me. All right,
then.Ifyou’reawearybuthonestwanderer,Iinviteyouin.Butifyou’rea
brigandorathief,thenIwarnyou:thishousedoeswhatItellit to.Within
thesewallsIrule!”
He lifted his hairy paw. All the shutters clattered against the wall once
moreanddeepinthedolphin’sstonegullet,somethingrumbled.
“Iinviteyouin,”herepeated.
Geraltdidn’tmove,scrutinizinghim.
“Doyoulivealone?”
“What’sthattodowithyou?”saidthemonsterangrily,openinghisjaws,
thencroakedloudly,“Oh,Isee.Nodoubtyou’dliketoknowwhetherI’vegot
fortyservantsallasbeautifulasme.Idon’t.Well,pox,areyougoingtomake
useofmygenerousinvitation?Ifnot,thegate’soverthere.”
Geraltbowedstiffly.“Iacceptyourinvitation,”hesaidformally.“Iwon’t
slighttherightofhospitality.”
“My house is your house,” the monster said in return, just as formally,
although a little offhandedly. “This way please, dear guest. And leave the
horsehere,bythewell.”
Theinteriorwasinneedofextensiverepair, although it was reasonably
clean and tidy. Thefurniturehad been made by skilledcraftsmen,if a very
longtimeago.Apungentsmellofdusthunginthedarkrooms.
“Light!”growledthemonster,andthetorchinitsironbracketburstinto
flamesandsootysmoke.
“Notbad,”remarkedthewitcher.
Themonstercackled. “That’s it? Iseeyouwon’tbe amazed byanyold
trick.I toldyouthis houseobeysmy commands.Thisway,please.Careful,
51
thestairsaresteep.Light!”
On the stairs, the monster turned. “What’s that around your neck, dear
guest?”
“Havealook.”
The creature took the medallion in his paw, lifted it up to his eyes,
tighteningthechainaroundGeralt’sneckalittle.
“Theanimalhasanunpleasantexpression.Whatisit?”
“Myguild’sbadge.”
“Ah,youmakemuzzles,nodoubt.Thisway,please.Light!”
Thecenterofthelargeroom,completelydevoidof windows,wastaken
up by a huge oak table, empty apart from an enormous brass candlestick,
slowly turning green and covered with trickles of hardened wax. At the
monster’s command, thecandles litand flickered, brightening the interiora
little.
Onewallwashungwithweapons,compositionsofroundshields,crossed
partisans,javelinsandguisarmes,heavysabersandaxes.Halfoftheadjacent
wall was taken up by an enormous fireplace, above which hung rows of
flaking and peeling portraits. The wall facing the entrance was filled with
hunting trophies—elks and stag antlers whose branching racks threw long
shadowsacrossthegrinningmountedheadsofwildboar,bearandlynx,over
the ruffled and frayed wings of eagles and hawks. The place of honor was
filledbyarockdragon’shead,taintedbrown,damagedandleakingstuffing.
Geraltexamineditmoreclosely.
“My grandpa killed it,” said the monster, throwing a huge log into the
depthsof thefireplace.“Itwasprobably thelastoneinthevicinitywhenit
gotitselfkilled.Sit,mydearguest.You’rehungry?”
“Iwon’tdenyit,dearhost.”
Themonstersatatthetable,loweredhishead,claspedhishairypawsover
hisstomach,mutteredsomethingwhiletwiddlinghisenormousthumbs,then
suddenlyroared,thumpingthetablewithhispaw.Dishesandplattersrattled
likepewterandsilver,chalicesjingledlikecrystal.Therewasasmellofroast
meat,garlic,marjoramandnutmeg.Geraltdidnotshowanysurprise.
“Yes.”Themonsterrubbedhishands.“Thisisbetterthanservants,isn’t
it?Helpyourself,dearguest.Here is some fowl, here some boar ham, here
terrineof…Idon’tknowwhat.Something.Herewehavesomehazelgrouse.
Pox, no, it’s partridge. I got the spells muddled up. Eat up, eat up. This is
proper,realfood,don’tworry.”
“I’mnotworried.”Geralttorethefowlintwo.
52
“Iforgot,”snorted the monster, “thatyou’renottimid. WhatshallIcall
you?”
“Geralt.Andyourname,dearhost?”
“Nivellen.ButtheycallmeDegenorFangeraroundhere.Andtheyuse
metofrightenchildren.”
Themonsterpouredthecontentsofanenormouschalicedownhisthroat,
afterwhichhesankhisfingersintheterrine,tearinghalfofitfromthebowl
inonego.
“Frighten children,” repeated Geralt with his mouth full. “Without any
reason,nodoubt?”
“Ofcoursenot.Yourhealth,Geralt!”
“Andyours,Nivellen.”
“How’s thewine?Have you noticedthat it’s made from grapesand not
apples?Butifyoudon’tlikeit,I’llconjureupadifferentone.”
“Thankyou,it’snotbad.Areyourmagicalpowersinnate?”
“No. I’ve had them since growing this. This trap, that is. I don’t know
how it happened myself, but the housedoeswhateverI wish. Nothing very
big;Ican conjure upfood,drink,clothes, cleanlinen,hotwater, soap. Any
woman can do that, and without using magic at that. I can open and close
windowsanddoors.Icanlightafire.Nothingveryremarkable.”
“It’ssomething.Andthis…trap,asyoucallit,haveyouhaditlong?”
“Twelveyears.”
“Howdidithappen?”
“What’sitgottodowithyou?Pouryourselfsomemorewine.”
“With pleasure. It’s got nothing to do with me. I’m just asking out of
curiosity.”
“An acceptable reason,” the monster said, and laughed loudly. “But I
don’t accept it. It’s got nothing to do with you and that’s that. But just to
satisfyyourcuriosityalittle,I’llshowyouwhatIusedtolooklike.Lookat
thoseportraits.Thefirstfromthechimneyismyfather.Thesecond,poxonly
knows.Andthethirdisme.Canyouseeit?”
Beneaththedustandspiderwebs,anondescriptmanwithabloated,sad,
spottyfaceandwateryeyeslookeddownfromthepainting.Geralt,whowas
nostrangertothewayportraitpainterstendedtoflattertheirclients,nodded.
“Canyouseeit?”repeatedNivellen,baringhisfangs.
“Ican.”
“Whoareyou?”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
53
“Youdon’tunderstand?”Themonsterraisedhishead;hiseyesshonelike
acat’s.“Myportraitishungbeyondthecandlelight.Icanseeit,butI’mnot
human.Atleast,notatthemoment.Ahuman,lookingatmyportrait,would
getup,go closerand,nodoubt, have totakethecandlestick withhim.You
didn’t do that, so the conclusion is simple. But I’m asking youplainly: are
youhuman?”
Geraltdidn’tlowerhiseyes. “Ifthat’stheway youputit,” heanswered
afteramoment’ssilence,“then,notquite.”
“Ah.Surelyitwon’tbetactlessifIask,inthatcase,whatyouare?”
“Awitcher.”
“Ah,”Nivellenrepeatedafteramoment.“IfIrememberrightly,witchers
earntheirlivinginaninterestingway—theykillmonstersformoney.”
“Youremembercorrectly.”
Silencefellagain.Candleflamespulsated,flickedupwardinthinwispsof
fire, glimmering in the cut-crystal chalices. Cascades of wax trickled down
thecandlestick.
Nivellensatstill,lightlytwitchinghisenormousears.“Let’sassume,”he
saidfinally,“thatyoudrawyourswordbeforeIjumponyou.Let’sassume
youevenmanagetocutmedown.Withmyweight,thatwon’tstopme;I’ll
take you down through sheermomentum.Andthen it’steeth that’ll decide.
Whatdoyouthink,witcher,whichoneofushasabetterchanceifitcomesto
bitingeachother’sthroats?”
Geralt, steadying the carafe’s pewter stopper with his thumb, poured
himself some wine, took a sip and leaned back into his chair. He was
watchingthemonsterwithasmile.Anexceptionallyuglyone.
“Yeeees,”saidNivellenslowly,diggingatthecornerofhisjawswithhis
claw.“Onehastoadmityoucananswerquestionswithoutusingmanywords.
It’llbeinterestingtoseehowyoumanagethenextone.Whopaidyoutodeal
withme?”
“Noone.I’mherebyaccident.”
“You’renotlying,byanychance?”
“I’mnotinthehabitoflying.”
“Andwhatareyouinthehabitofdoing?I’veheardaboutwitchers—they
abducttinychildrenwhomtheyfeedwithmagicherbs.Theoneswhosurvive
becomewitchersthemselves,sorcererswithinhumanpowers.They’retaught
tokill,andallhumanfeelingsandreactionsaretrainedoutofthem.They’re
turnedintomonstersinordertokillothermonsters.I’vehearditsaidit’shigh
timesomeonestartedhuntingwitchers,astherearefewerandfewermonsters
54
andmoreandmorewitchers.Dohavesomepartridgebeforeit’scompletely
cold.”
Nivellen took the partridge from the dish, put it between his jaws and
cruncheditlikeapieceoftoast,bonescrackingastheywerecrushedbetween
histeeth.
“Whydon’tyousayanything?”heaskedindistinctly,swallowing.“How
muchoftherumorsaboutyouwitchersistrue?”
“Practicallynothing.”
“Andwhat’salie?”
“Thattherearefewerandfewermonsters.”
“True.There’safairnumberofthem.”Nivellenbaredhisfangs.“Oneis
sittinginfrontofyouwonderingifhedidtherightthingbyinvitingyouin.I
didn’tlikeyourguildbadgerightfromthestart,dearguest.”
“Youaren’tamonster,Nivellen,”thewitchersaiddryly.
“Pox,that’ssomethingnew.SowhatamI?Cranberrypudding?Aflockof
wild geese flying south on a sad November morning? No? Maybe I’m the
virtue that a miller’s buxom daughter lost in spring? Well, Geralt, tell me
whatIam.Can’tyouseeI’mshakingwithcuriosity?”
“You’renotamonster.Otherwiseyouwouldn’tbeabletotouchthissilver
tray.Andinnowaycouldyouholdmymedallion.”
“Ha!”Nivellenroaredsopowerfullythecandleflamesfellhorizontalfor
a moment. “Today, very clearly, is a day for revealing great and terrible
secrets!NowI’mgoingtobetoldthatIgrewtheseearsbecauseIdidn’tlike
milkyporridgeasachild!”
“No, Nivellen,” saidGeralt calmly. “It happenedbecause of aspell I’m
sureyouknowwhocastthatspell.”
“AndwhatifIdo?”
“Inmanycasesaspellcanbeuncast.”
“You,asawitcher,canuncastspellsinmanycases?”
“Ican.Doyouwantmetotry?”
“No.Idon’t.”Themonsteropenedhisjawsandpokedouthistongue,two
spanlong,andveryred.“Surprisedyou,hasn’tit?”
“Thatithas,”admittedGeralt.
Themonstergiggledandloungedinhisarmchair.“Iknewthatwould,”he
said.“Pouryourself some more,getcomfortableand I’ll tellyouthewhole
story.Witcherornot,you’vegotanhonestfaceandIfeelliketalking.Pour
yourselfmore.”
“There’snoneleft.”
55
“Poxonit!”Themonsterclearedhisthroat,thenthumpedthetablewith
his paw again. A large earthenware demijohn in a wicker basket appeared
nexttothetwoemptycarafes,fromnowhere.Nivellentorethesealingwax
offwithhisteeth.
“Asnodoubtyou’venoticed,”hebegan,pouringthewine,“thisisquitea
remotearea.It’salongwaytothenearesthumansettlement.It’sbecause,you
see,myfather,andmygrandfathertoo,inhistime,didn’tmakethemselves
particularly loved by our neighbors or the merchants using the highway. If
anyonewentastrayhereandmyfatherspottedthemfromthetower,theylost
—at best—their fortune. And a couple ofthe nearer settlementswere burnt
becauseFather decidedthelevies werebeingpaid tardily.Notmanypeople
likedmyfather.Exceptforme,naturally.Icriedawfullywhenwhatwasleft
ofmyfatherafterablowfromatwo-handedswordwasbroughthomeona
cartoneday.Grandpadidn’ttakepartinrobberyanymorebecause,eversince
he was hit on the head with a morningstar, he had a terrible stutter. He
dribbledandrarelymadeittotheprivyontime.Astheirheir,Ihadtolead
thegang.
“Iwasyoungatthetime,”Nivellencontinued,“arealmilksop,sothelads
inthecrewwoundmearoundtheirlittlefingersinaflash.Iwasasmuchin
commandofthemasafatpigletisofapackofwolves.Wesoonbegandoing
thingswhichFatherwouldneverhaveallowed,hadhebeenalive.I’llspare
youthedetailsandgetstraighttothepoint.Onedaywetookourselvesasfar
asGelibol,nearMirt,androbbedatemple.Ayoungpriestesswastheretoo.”
“Whichtemple,Nivellen?”
“Poxonlyknows,butitmusthavebeenabadone.Therewereskullsand
bones on the altar, I remember, and a green fire was burning. It stank like
nobody’sbusiness.Buttothepoint.Theladsoverpoweredthepriestessand
strippedher,thensaidIhadtobecomeaman.Well,Ibecameaman,stupid
littlesnotthatIwas,andwhileIwasachievingmanhood,thepriestessspat
intomyfaceandscreamedsomething.”
“What?”
“ThatIwasamonsterinhumanskin,thatI’dbeamonsterinamonster’s
skin,somethingaboutlove,blood…Ican’tremember.Shemusthavehadthe
dagger,alittleone,hiddeninherhair.Shekilledherselfandthen—
“Wefledfromthere,Geralt,I’mtellingyou—wenearlyworeourhorses
out.Itwasabadtemple.”
“Goon.”
“Thenitwasasthepriestesshadsaid.Afewdayslater,Iwokeupandas
56
the servants saw me, they screamed and took to their heels. I went to the
mirror…Yousee,Geralt,Ipanicked,hadsomesortofanattack,Iremember
it almost through a haze. To put it briefly, corpses fell. Several. I used
whatever came to hand—and I’d suddenly become very strong. And the
househelpedasbestitcould:doorsslammed,furnitureflewintheair,fires
brokeout.Whoevercouldgetoutranawayinapanic:myauntandcousin,
the lads from the crew. What am I saying? Even the dogs howled and
cowered.Mycat,Glutton,ranaway.Evenmyaunt’sparrotkickedthebucket
out of fear. I was alone, roaring, howling, going mad, smashing whatever
cametohand,mainlymirrors.”
Nivellenpaused,sighedandsniffed.
“Whentheattackwasover,”heresumedafterawhile,“itwasalreadytoo
late.I wasalone.I couldn’texplainto anyonethatonly myappearancehad
changed, that although inthis horrible shape, Iwas just a stupidyoungster,
sobbing over the servants’ bodies in an empty manor. I was afraid they’d
comebackandkillmebeforeIcouldexplain.Butnobodyreturned.”
Themonstergrewsilentforamomentandwipedhisnoseonhissleeve.
“I don’t want to go back to those first months, Geralt. It still leaves me
shakingwhenIrecallthem.I’llgettothepoint.Foralongtime,averylong
time, I sat in the manor, quiet as a mouse, not stirring from the place. If
anyoneappeared,whichrarelyhappened,Iwouldn’tgoout.I’dtellthehouse
toslamtheshuttersacoupleoftimes,orI’droarthroughthegargoyle,and
thatwasusuallyenoughforthewould-beguesttoleaveinahurry.Sothat’s
howitwas,untilonedayIlookedoutofthewindowonepaledawnand—
whatdidIsee?Sometrespasserstealingarosefrommyaunt’sbush.Andit
isn’t just any old rosebush: these are blue roses from Nazair. It was
Grandfatherwhobroughttheseedlings.Iflewintoafuryandjumpedoutside.
“Thefattrespasser,whenhegothisvoiceback—he’dlostitwhenhesaw
me—squealed that he only wanted a few flowers for his daughter, that I
shouldsparehim,sparehislifeandhishealth.Iwasjustready tokick him
outofthemaingatewhenIrememberedsomething.StoriesLenka,mynanny
—theoldbag—usedtotellme.Poxonit,Ithought,ifprettygirlsturnfrogs
intoprinces,ortheotherwayround,thenmaybe…Maybethere’sagrainof
truthinthesestories,achance…Ileaptfouryards,roaredsoloudwildvine
tumbled from the wall, and I yelled, ‘Your daughter or your life!’ Nothing
bettercameto mind. The merchant, for he was amerchant, began to weep,
thenconfessedthathisdaughterwasonlyeight.Areyoulaughing?”
“No.”
57
“Ididn’tknowwhethertolaughorcryovermyshittyfate.Ifeltsorryfor
theoldtrader.Icouldn’twatchhimshakelikethat.Iinvitedhiminside,made
him welcome and, when he was leaving,I pouredgoldandprecious stones
intohisbag.TherewasstillafairfortuneinthecellarfromFather’s day. I
hadn’tquiteknownwhattodowithit,soIcouldallowmyselfthisgesture.
Themerchantbeamedandthankedmesoprofuselythatheslobberedallover
himself. He must haveboastedabout his adventure somewherebecausenot
two weeks had gone by when another merchant appeared. He had a pretty
largebagreadywithhim.Andadaughter.Alsoprettylarge.”
Nivellenextendedhislegsunderthetableandstretcheduntilthearmchair
creaked.
“Icametoanunderstandingwiththemerchantinnotime,”hecontinued.
“He’dleaveherwithmeforayear.Ihadtohelphimloadthesackontohis
mule;hewouldn’thavemanagedbyhimself.”
“Andthegirl?”
“Shehadfitsatthesightofmeforawhile.ShereallythoughtI’deather.
But after a monthwe were eating atthe same table, chattingand going for
long walks. She was kind, and remarkably smart, and I’d get tongue-tied
when I talked to her. You see, Geralt, I was always shy with girls, always
madealaughingstockofmyself,evenwithwenchesfromthecowshedwith
dunguptotheirknees,girlstheladsfromthecrewturnedoverthiswayand
thatatwill.Eventheymadefunofme.Tosaynothingofhavingamawlike
this.Icouldn’tevenmakemyselfsayanythingaboutwhyIhadpaidsodearly
forayearofherlife.Theyeardraggedlikethestenchfollowingmarauding
troopsuntil,atlast,themerchantarrivedandtookheraway.
“I locked myself in the house, resigned, and didn’t react for several
monthstoany oftheguestswho turned upwithdaughters. But afterayear
spentwithcompany,Irealizedhowharditwastolivewithoutanyonetotalk
to.”Themonstermadeanoisewhichwassupposedtobeasighbutcameout
morelikeahiccup.
“Thenextone,”hesaidafterawhile,“wascalledFenne.Shewassmall,
brightandchirpy,arealgold-crest.Shewasn’tfrightenedofmeatall.Once,
ontheanniversaryofmyfirsthaircut,mycomingofage,we’dbothdrunktoo
muchmead and…ha,ha.Straightafter, Ijumpedout ofbedandranto the
mirror. I must admit I was disappointed, and despondent. The trap was the
sameasiteverwas,ifwithaslightlymorestupidexpression.Andtheysay
thewisdomofagesistobefoundinfairytales.It’snotworthashit,wisdom
likethat,Geralt.
58
“Well,Fennequicklytriedtomakemeforgetmyworries.Shewasajolly
girl, I tell you. Do you know what she thought up? We’d both frighten
unwanted guests. Imagine: a guest like that enters the courtyard, looks
around, and then, with a roar, I charge at him on all fours with Fenne,
completelynaked,sittingonmybackandblowingmygrandfather’shunting
horn!”
Nivellenshookwithlaughter,thewhiteofhisfangsflashing.“Fenne,”he
continued,“stayedwithmeforayear,thenreturnedtoherfamilywithahuge
dowry.Shewaspreparingtomarryatavernowner,awidower.”
“Carryon,Nivellen.Thisisinteresting.”
“You think so?” said the monster, scratching himself between the ears
witharaspingsound.“Allright.Thenextone,Primula,wasthedaughterof
animpoverishedknight.Theknight,whenhegothere,hadaskinnyhorse,a
rustycuirassandincredibledebts.Hewasashideousascowdung,Itellyou,
Geralt, and spread a similar smell. Primula, I’d wager my right hand, was
conceivedwhilehewasatwar,asshewasquitepretty.Ididn’tfrightenher
either,whichisn’tsurprising,really,ascomparedtoherparentImighthave
appearedquitecomely.Shehad,asitturnedout,quiteatemperamentandI,
havinggainedsomeself-confidence, seized themomentbythehorns.After
twoweeksPrimulaandIalreadyhadaverycloserelationship.Shelikedto
pullmebytheearsandshout,‘Bitemetodeath,youanimal!’and‘Tearme
apart,youbeast!’ and other equally idiotic things. I ranto the mirror in the
breaks, but just imagine, Geralt, I looked at myself with growing anxiety.
LessandlessdidIlongtoreturntomyformershape.Yousee,Geralt,Iused
tobeaweaklingandnowI’dbecomeastrappingfellow.I’dkeepgettingill,
I’dcough,mynosewouldrun,butnowIdon’tcatchanything.Andmyteeth?
You wouldn’t believe how rotten my teeth had been! And now? I can bite
throughthelegofachair.Doyouwantmetobiteachairleg?”
“No,Idon’t.”
“Maybethat’sgood.”Themonsteropenedhismouthwide.“Myshowing-
off used to amuse the girls and there aren’t many whole chairs left in the
house.”Nivellenyawned,hisenormoustonguerollingupintoatube.
“This talking has made me tired, Geralt. Briefly: there were two after
Primula, Ilka and Venimira. Everything happened in the same way, to the
point of boredom. First, a mixture of fear and reserve, then a thread of
sympathy thy reinforced by small but precious gifts, then ‘Bite me, eat me
up,’ Daddy’s return, a tender farewell and an increasingly discernible
depletion of the treasury. I decided to take longer breaks to be alone. Of-
59
course,I’dlongagostoppedbelievingthatavirgin’skisswouldtransformthe
wayIlooked.AndI’dcometotermswithit.And,what’smore,I’dcometo
the conclusion that things werefineas they were andthatthere wasn’tany
needforchanges.”
“Really?Nochanges,Nivellen?”
“It’s true. I have a horse’s health, which came with the way I look, for
one.Secondly, my being differentworksongirlslikean aphrodisiac. Don’t
laugh!I’mcertainthatasahuman,I’dhavetogiveamightygoodchaseto
get at a girl like, for example, Venimira, who was an extremely beautiful
maid.Idon’tsupposeshe’dhaveglancedtwiceatthefellowintheportrait.
Andthirdly:safety.Fatherhadenemies,andacoupleofthemhadsurvived.
Peoplewhomthecrew,undermypitifulleadership,hadsenttotheirgraves,
hadrelatives.There’sgoldinthecellar.Ifitwasn’tforthe fear inspired by
me,somebodywouldcomeandgetit,ifonlypeasantswithpitchforks.”
“Youseemquite sure,”Geraltremarked,playingwithanemptychalice,
“that you haven’t offended anyone in your present shape. No father, no
daughter.Norelativeordaughter’sbetrothed—”
“Leaveoff,Geralt.”Nivellenwasindignant.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?
Thefatherscouldn’tcontainthemselvesforjoy.Itoldyou,Iwasincredibly
generous.Andthedaughters?Youdidn’tseethemwhentheygothereintheir
dresses of sackcloth, their little hands raw from washing, their shoulders
stoopedfromcarryingbuckets.Evenaftertwoweekswithme,Primulastill
had marks on her back and thighs from the strap her knightly father had
beatenherwith.Theywalkedaroundlikeprincesseshere,carriednothingbut
a fan and didn’t even know where the kitchen was. I dressed them up and
coveredthemwithtrinkets.Attheclickofafinger,I’dconjureuphotwater
in the tin bath Father had plundered for my mother at Assengard. Can you
imagine?Atinbath!There’shardlyaregent,whatamIsaying,hardlyalord
who’s got a tin bath at home.This was ahouse from a fairy talefor them,
Geralt.Andasfarasbedisconcerned,well…Poxonit,virtueisrarertoday
thanarockdragon.Ididn’tforceanyofthem,Geralt.”
“Butyoususpectedsomeonehadpaidmetokillyou.Whowouldhave?”
“A scoundrel who wanted the contents of my cellar but didn’thave any
more daughters,” Nivellen said emphatically. “Human greed knows no
limits.”
“Andnobodyelse?”
“Andnobodyelse.”
They both remained silent, gazing at the nervous flicker of the candle
60
flames.
“Nivellen,”saidthewitchersuddenly,“areyoualonenow?”
“Witcher,” answered the monster after a moment’s hesitation, “I think
that,inprinciple,Ioughttoinsultyou,takeyoubytheneckandthrowyou
down the stairs. Do you know why? Becauseyou treat me like a dimwit. I
noticed how you’ve been cocking your ears and glancing at the door. You
knowperfectlywellthatIdon’tlivealone.AmIright?”
“Youare.I’msorry.”
“Poxonyourapologies.Haveyouseenher?”
“Yes.Intheforest,bythegate.Isshewhymerchantsanddaughtershave
beenleavinghereempty-handedforsometime?”
“Soyouknowaboutthattoo?Yes,she’sthereason.”
“DoyoumindifIaskwhether—”
“Yes,Idomind.”
Silenceagain.
“Ohwell,it’suptoyou,”thewitcherfinallysaid,gettingup.“Thanksfor
yourhospitality,dearhost.TimeIwasonmyway.”
“Quiteright.”Nivellenalsogotup.“Forcertainreasons,Ican’tofferyou
a room in the manor for the night, and I don’t encourage you to spend the
night in these woods. Ever since the area’s been deserted, it’s been bad at
nighthere.Yououghttogetbacktothehighwaybeforedusk.”
“I’llbearthatinmind,Nivellen.Areyousureyoudon’tneedmyhelp?”
The monster looked at him askance. “You think you could help me?
You’dbeabletoliftthisfromme?”
“Iwasn’tonlythinkingaboutthatsortofhelp.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Although… you probably did. You
wouldn’tbeableto.”
Geraltlookedhimstraightintheeyes.“Youhadsomebadluck,”hesaid.
“OfallthetemplesinGelibolandtheNimnarValley,youpickedtheChurch
ofCoramAghTera,theLionheadedSpider.Inordertoliftthecursethrown
bythepriestessofCoramAghTera,youneedknowledgeandpowerswhichI
don’tpossess.”
“Andwhodoes?”
“Soyouareinterestedafterall?Yousaidthingswerefineastheyare.”
“Astheyare,yes.Butnotastheymightbe.I’mafraidthat—”
“Whatareyouafraidof?”
Themonsterstoppedatthedoortotheroomandturned.“I’vehadenough
ofyourquestions,witcher,whichyoukeepaskinginsteadofansweringmine.
61
Obviously, you’ve got to be asked in the right way. Listen. For some time
nowI’vehad hideous dreams. Maybe the word ‘monstrous’ would be more
accurate.AmIrighttobeafraid?Briefly,please.”
“Haveyoueverhadmuddyfeetafterwakingfromsuchadream?Conifer
needlesinyoursheets?”
“No.”
“Andhave—”
“No.Briefly,please.”
“You’rerightlyafraid.”
“Cananythingbedoneaboutit?Briefly,please.”
“No.”
“Finally.Let’sgo.I’llseeyouout.”
Inthecourtyard,asGeraltwasadjustingthesaddlebags,Nivellenstroked
the mare’s nostrils and patted her neck. Roach, pleased with the caress,
loweredherhead.
“Animalslikeme,” boastedthemonster. “AndIlikethem, too. Mycat,
Glutton,ranawayatthebeginningbutshecamebacklater.Foralongtime,
she was the only living creature who kept me company in my misfortune.
Vereena,too—”Hebrokeoffwithagrimace.
Geraltsmiled.“Doesshelikecatstoo?”
“Birds.” Nivellen bared his teeth. “I gave myself away, pox on it. But
what’s the harm. She isn’t another merchant’s daughter, Geralt, or another
attempt to find a grain of truth in old folk tales. It’s serious. We love each
other.Ifyoulaugh,I’llsockyouone.”
Geralt didn’t laugh. “You know your Vereena,” he said, “is probably a
rusalka?”
“Isuspectedasmuch.Slim.Dark.Sherarelyspeaks,andinalanguageI
don’t know. She doesn’teat human food.She disappears into the forest for
daysonend,thencomesback.Isthattypical?”
“Moreorless.”ThewitchertightenedRoach’sgirth-strap.“Nodoubtyou
thinkshewouldn’treturnifyouweretobecomehuman?”
“I’msureofit.Youknowhowfrightenedrusalkasareofpeople.Hardly
anybody’sseenarusalkafromupclose.ButVereenaandI…Poxonit!Take
care,Geralt.”
“Takecare,Nivellen.”Thewitcherproddedthemareinthesidewithhis
heelandmadetowardthegate.Themonstershuffledalongathisside.
“Geralt?”
“Yes.”
62
“I’mnotasstupidasyouthink.Youcameherefollowingthetracksofone
ofthemerchantswho’dbeenherelately.Hassomethinghappenedtooneof
them?”
“Yes.”
“The last was here three days ago. With his daughter, not one of the
prettiest, by the way. I commanded the house to close all its doors and
shutters and give no sign of life. They wandered around the courtyard and
left.Thegirlpickedarosefrommyaunt’srosebushandpinnedittoherdress.
Lookforthemsomewhereelse.Butbecareful;thisisahorriblearea.Itold
youthattheforestisn’tthesafestofplacesatnight.Uglythingsareheardand
seen.”
“Thanks,Nivellen.I’llrememberaboutyou.Whoknows,maybeI’llfind
someonewho—”
“Maybe yes. And maybe no. It’s my problem, Geralt, my life and my
punishment.I’velearnedtoputupwithit.I’vegotusedtoit.Ifitgetsworse,
I’ll get used to that too. And if it gets far worse, don’t look for anybody.
Comehereyourselfandputanendtoit.Asawitcher.Takecare,Geralt.”
Nivellen turned and marched briskly toward the manor. He didn’t look
roundagain.
63
III
Theareawasdeserted,wildandominouslyinhospitable.Geraltdidn’treturn
tothehighwaybeforedusk;hedidn’twanttotakearoundaboutroute,sohe
tookashortcutthroughtheforest.Hespentthenightonthebaresummitofa
high hill, his sword on his knees, beside a tiny campfire into which, every
nowandthen,hethrew wisps of monkshood. In the middleofthenighthe
noticedtheglowofafirefarawayinthevalley;heheardmadhowlingand
singingandasoundwhichcouldonlyhavebeenthescreamingofatortured
woman.Whendawnhadbarelybroken,hemadehiswaytheretofindnothing
butatrampledgladeandcharredbonesinstill-warmashes.Somethingsitting
inthecrownofan enormous oak shrieked and hissed. Itcouldhavebeena
harpy,oranordinarywildcat.Thewitcherdidn’tstoptocheck.
64
IV
About midday, while Roach was drinking at a spring, the mare neighed
piercingly and backed away, baring her yellow teeth and chewing her bit.
GeraltcalmedherwiththeSign.Thenhenoticedaregularringformedbythe
capsofreddishmushroomspeeringfromthemoss.
“You’re becoming a real hysteric, Roach,” he said. “This is just an
ordinarydevil’sring.What’sthefuss?”
Themaresnorted, turning her headtowardhim.The witcher rubbed his
forehead,frownedandgrewthoughtful.Thenheleaptintothesaddle,turned
thehorsearoundandstartedback,followinghisowntracks.
“Animals like me,” he muttered. “Sorry, Roach. It turns out you’ve got
morebrainsthanme!”
65
V
Themareflattenedherearsagainstherskullandsnorted,throwingupearth
withherhooves;shedidn’twanttogo.Geraltdidn’tcalmherwiththeSign;
hejumpedfromthesaddleandthrewthereinsoverthehorse’shead.Heno
longerhad hisoldsword initslizard-skinsheathon hisback;itsplacewas
filled with a shining, beautiful weapon with a cruciform and slender, well-
weightedhilt,endinginasphericalpommelmadeofwhitemetal.
Thistimethegatedidn’topenforhim.Itwasalreadyopen,justashehad
leftit.
He heard singing. He didn’t understand the words; he couldn’t even
identifythelanguage.Hedidn’tneedto—thewitcherfeltandunderstoodthe
verynature,theessence,ofthisquiet,piercingsongwhichflowedthroughthe
veinsinawaveofnauseous,overpoweringmenace.
Thesingingbrokeoffabruptly,andthenhesawher.
She was clinging to the back of the dolphin in the dried-up fountain,
embracing the moss-overgrown stone with her tiny hands, so pale they
seemed transparent. Beneath her storm of tangled black hair shone huge,
wide-openeyesthecolorofanthracite.
Geraltslowlydrewcloser,hisstepsoftandspringy,tracingasemi-circle
from the wall and blue rosebush. The creature glued to the dolphin’s back
followed him with her eyes, turning her petite face with an expression of
longing,andfullofcharm.Hecouldstillhearhersong,eventhoughherthin,
palelipswereheldtightandnottheslightestsoundemergedfromthem.
The witcher halted at a distance of ten paces. His sword, slowly drawn
fromitsblackenameledsheath,glistenedandglowedabovehishead.
“It’ssilver,”hesaid.“Thisbladeissilver.”
The pale little face did not flinch; the anthracite eyes did not change
expression.
“You’resolikearusalka,”thewitchercontinuedcalmly,“thatyoucould
deceive anyone. All the more as you’re a rare bird, black-haired one. But
horsesarenevermistaken.Theyrecognizecreatureslikeyouinstinctivelyand
perfectly. What are you? I think you’re a moola, or an alpor. An ordinary
vampirecouldn’tcomeoutinthesun.”
Thecornersofthepalelipsquiveredandturnedupalittle.
“Nivellenattractedyouwiththatshapeofhis,didn’the?Youevokedhis
dreams.Icanguesswhatsortofdreamstheywere,andIpityhim.”
66
Thecreaturedidn’tmove.
“Youlikebirds,”continuedthewitcher.“Butthatdoesn’tstopyoubiting
the necks of people of both sexes, does it? You and Nivellen, indeed! A
beautiful couple you’d make, a monster and a vampire, rulers of a ‘ forest
castle. You’d dominate the whole area in a flash. You, eternally thirsty for
blood,andhe,yourguardian,amurdereratyourservice,ablindtool.Butfirst
hehadtobecomeatruemonster,notahumanbeinginamonster’smask.”
Thehugeblackeyesnarrowed.
“Whereishe,black-hairedone?Youweresinging,soyou’vedrunksome
blood.You’vetakentheultimatemeasure,whichmeansyouhaven’tmanaged
toenslavehismind.AmIright?”
The black-tressed head nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and the
cornersofthemouthturnedupevenmore.Thetinylittlefacetookonaneerie
expression.
“Nodoubtyouconsideryourselftheladyofthismanornow?”
Anod,thistimeclearer.
“Areyouamoola?”
Aslowshakeofthehead.Thehisswhichreverberatedthroughhisbones
could only have come from the pale, ghastly, smiling lips, although the
witcherdidn’tseethemmove.
“Alpor?”
Denial.
Thewitcherbackedawayandclaspedthehiltofhisswordtighter.“That
meansyou’re—”
Thecornersofthelipsstartedtoturnuphigherandhigher;thelipsflew
open…
“Abruxa!”thewitchershouted,throwinghimselftowardthefountain.
From behind the pale lips glistened white, spiky fangs. The vampire
jumpedup,archedherbacklikealeopardandscreamed.
Thewaveofsoundhitthewitcherlikeabatteringram,deprivinghimof
breath, crushing his ribs, piercing his ears and brain with thorns of pain.
Flyingbackward,hejustmanagedtocrosshiswristsintheSignofHeliotrop.
Thespellcushionedsomeofhisimpactwiththewallbutevenso,theworld
grewdarkandtheremainderofhisbreathburstfromhislungsinagroan.
Onthedolphin’sback,inthestonecircleofthedried-upfountainwherea
daintygirlinawhitedresshadsatjustamomentago,anenormousblackbat
flatteneditsglossybody,openingitslong,narrowjawswide,revealingrows
of needle-like white teeth. The membranous wings spread and flapped
67
silently, and the creature charged at the witcher like an arrow fired from a
crossbow.
Geralt,withthemetallictasteofbloodinhismouth,shoutedaspelland
threwhishand,fingersspreadintheSignofQuen,outinfrontofhim.The
bat,hissing,turnedabruptly,thenchuckledandveeredupintotheairbefore
diving down vertically, straight at the nape of the witcher’s neck. Geralt
jumped aside, slashed, and missed. The bat,smoothly, gracefully drew in a
wing, circled around him and attacked anew, opening its eyeless, toothed
snoutwide.Geraltwaited,swordheldwithbothhands,alwayspointedinthe
creature’s direction. At the last moment, he jumped—not to the side but
forward,dealingaswingingcutwhichmadetheairhowl.
He missed. It was so unexpected that he lost his rhythm and dodged a
fractionofasecondtoolate.Hefeltthebeast’s talonstearhischeek,anda
damp velvety wing slapped against his neck. He curled up on the spot,
transferred the weight of his body to his right leg and slashed backward
sharply,missingtheamazinglyagilecreatureagain.
Thebatbeatitswings,soaredupandglidedtowardthefountain.Asthe
crooked claws scraped against the stone casing, the monstrous, slobbering
snout was already blurring, morphing, disappearing, although the pale little
lipswhichweretakingitsplacecouldn’tquitehidethemurderousfangs.
Thebruxahowledpiercingly,modulatinghervoiceintoamacabretune,
glaredatthewitcherwitheyesfullofhatred,andscreamedagain.
ThesoundwavewassopowerfulitbrokethroughtheSign.Blackandred
circlesspuninGeralt’seyes;histemplesandthecrownofhisheadthrobbed.
Through the pain drilling in his ears, he began to hear voices wailing and
moaning,thesoundoffluteandoboe,therustleofagale.Theskinonhisface
grewnumbandcold.Hefelltoonekneeandshookhishead.
Theblackbatfloatedtowardhimsilently,openingitstoothyjaws.Geralt,
still stunned by the scream, reacted instinctively. He jumped up and, in a
flash, matching the tempo of his movements to the speed of the monster’s
flight,tookthreestepsforward,dodged,turnedasemi-circleandthen,quick
as a thought, delivered a two-handed blow. The blade met with no
resistance…almostnoresistance.Heheardascream,but thistimeitwasa
screamofpain,causedbythetouchofsilver.
The wailing bruxa was morphing on the dolphin’s back. On her white
dress,slightlyaboveherleftbreast,aredstainwasvisiblebeneathaslashno
longer than a little finger. The witcher ground his teeth—the cut, which
shouldhavesunderedthebeastintwo,hadbeennothingbutascratch.
68
“Shout,vampire,”hegrowled,wipingthebloodfromhischeek.“Scream
yourgutsout.Loseyourstrength.AndthenI’llslashyourprettylittlehead
off!”
You.Youwillbethefirsttogrowweak,Sorcerer.Iwillkillyou.
The bruxa’s lips didn’t move, but the witcher heard the words clearly;
theyresoundedinhismind,echoingandreverberatingasifunderwater.
“Weshallsee,”hemutteredthroughhisteethashewalked,bentover,in
thedirectionofthefountain.
Iwillkillyou.I’llkillyou.I’llkillyou.
“Weshallsee.”
“Vereena!”Nivellen,hisheadhanginglowandbothhandsclingingtothe
doorframe, stumbled from the mansion. He staggered toward the fountain,
wavinghispawsunsteadily.Bloodstainedthecuffofhistunic.
“Vereena!”heroaredagain.
The bruxa jerked her head in his direction. Geralt, raising his sword to
strike, jumped toward her, but the vampire’s reaction was much faster. A
sharpscreamandanothersoundwaveknockedthewitcherfromhisfeet.He
tumbledontohisbackandscrapedagainstthegravelofthepath.Thebruxa
arched and tensed to jump, her fangs flashing like daggers. Nivellen,
spreadinghispawslikeabear,triedtograbherbutshescreamedstraightinto
his face, throwing him backagainst thewoodenscaffoldingunder the wall,
whichbrokewithasharpcrashandburiedhimbeneathastackoftimber.
Geraltwas alreadyonhis feet,running,tracing asemi-circlearoundthe
courtyard, trying to draw the bruxa’s attention away from Nivellen. The
vampire, fluttering her white dress, scurried straight at him, light as a
butterfly,barelytouchingtheground.Shewasnolongerscreaming,nolonger
tryingtomorph.Thewitcherknewshewastired,andthatshewasstilllethal.
BehindGeralt’sback,Nivellenwasclatteringunderthescaffolding,roaring.
Geralt leapt to the left, executing a short moulinet with his sword to
confusethebruxaglidingtowardhim—whiteandblack,windblown,terrible.
He’d underestimated her. She screamed. He didn’t make the Sign in time,
flewbackwarduntilhethumpedagainstthewall.Thepaininhisspineshot
allthewaytothetipsofhisfingers,paralyzedhisshoulders,cuthimdownat
thelegs.Hefelltohisknees.Thebruxa,wailingmelodiously,jumpedtoward
him.
“Vereena!”roaredNivellen.
Sheturned—and Nivellenforcedthe sharpbrokenend ofathree-meter-
longpolebetweenherbreasts.Shedidn’tshout.Sheonlysighed.
69
Thewitchershook,hearingthissigh.
Theystoodthere:Nivellen,onwidespreadlegs,waswieldingthepolein
bothhands,oneendfirmlysecuredunderhisarm.
Thebruxa,likea white butterfly onapin,hungonthe other end of the
stake,clutchingitwithbothhands.Thevampireexhaledexcruciatinglyand
suddenlypressedherselfhardagainstthestake.
Geraltwatchedaredstainbloomonherback,onthewhitedressthrough
whichthebrokentipemergedinageyserofblood:hideous,almostobscene.
Nivellenscreamed,tookonestepback,thenanother,retreatingfromher,but
hedidn’tletgoofthepoleanddraggedthebruxabehindhim.Onemorestep
andheleanedbackagainstthemansion.Theendofthepolescrapedagainst
thewall.
Slowly, as if a caress, the bruxa moved her tiny hands along the stake,
stretchedherarmsouttotheirfulllength,graspedthepolehardandpulledon
itagain.Overameterofbloodiedwoodalreadyprotrudedfromherback.Her
eyeswerewideopen,herheadflungback.Hersighsbecamemorefrequent
andrhythmic,turningintoarucklingwheeze.
Geraltstoodbut,fascinatedbythescene,stillcouldn’tmakehimselfact.
Heheardwordsresoundingdullywithinhisskull,asifechoingaroundacold,
dampdungeon.
Mine.Ornobody’s.Iloveyou.Loveyou.
Another terrible, vibrating sigh, choking in blood. The bruxa moved
furtheralongthepoleandstretchedoutherarms.Nivellenroareddesperately
and, without letting go of the stake, tried to push the vampire as far from
himselfaspossible—butinvain.Shepulledherselfcloser andgrabbedhim
by the head. He wailed horrifically and tossed his hairy head. The bruxa
movedalongthepoleagainandtiltedherheadtowardNivellen’sthroat.The
fangsflashedablindingwhite.
Geraltjumped.Everymovehemade,everystep,waspartofhisnature:
hard-learned, automatic and lethally sure. Three quick steps, and the third,
likeahundredsuchstepsbefore,finishedontheleftlegwithastrong,firm
stamp.Atwistofhistorsoandasharp,forcefulcut.Hesawhereyes.Nothing
couldchangenow.Heheardthevoice.Nothing.Heyelled,todrowntheword
whichshewasrepeating.Nothingcouldchange.Hecut.
Hestruckdecisively,likehundredsoftimesbefore,withthecenterofthe
blade,andimmediately,followingtherhythmofthemovement,tookafourth
step and half a turn. The blade, freed by the half-turn, floated after him,
shining,drawingafanofreddropletsinitswake.Thestreamingraven-black
70
hairfloatedintheair,floated,floated,floated…
Theheadfellontothegravel.
Therearefewerandfewermonsters?
AndI?WhatamI?
Who’sshouting?Thebirds?
Thewomaninasheepskinjacketandbluedress?
TherosesfromNazair?
Howquiet!
Howempty.Whatemptiness.
Withinme.
Nivellen, curled up in a bundle, sheltering his head in his arms and
shakingwithtwitchesandshivers,waslyinginthenettlesbythemanorwall.
“Getup,”saidthewitcher.
Theyoung,handsome,well-builtmanwithapalecomplexionlyingbythe
wallraisedhisheadandlookedaround.Hiseyeswerevague.Herubbedthem
withhisknuckles.Helookedat his hands, felt his face. He moaned quietly
and,puttinghisfingerinhismouth,ranitalonghisgumsforalongtime.He
grasped his face again and moaned as he touched the four bloody, swollen
streaksonhischeek.Heburstoutsobbing,thenlaughed.
“Geralt!Howcome?Howdidthis—Geralt!”
“Getup,Nivellen.Getupandcomealong.I’vegotsomemedicineinmy
saddlebags.Webothneedit.”
“I’venolongergot…Ihaven’t,haveI?Geralt?Why?”
Thewitcherhelped himgetup,trying not tolookatthe tinyhands—so
paleastobetransparent—clenchedaroundthepolestuckbetweenthesmall
breastswhichwerenowplasteredwithawetredfabric.
Nivellenmoanedagain.“Vereena—”
“Don’tlook.Let’sgo.”
They crossed the courtyard, holding each other up, and passed the blue
rosebush.
Nivellen kept touching his face with his free hand. “Incredible, Geralt.
Aftersomanyyears?How’sitpossible?”
“There’s a grain of truth in every fairy tale,” said the witcher quietly.
“Love and blood. They both possess a mighty power. Wizards and learned
men have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven’t
arrivedatanythingexceptthat—”
“Thatwhat,Geralt?”
“Ithastobetruelove.”
71
72
THEVOICEOFREASON
73
I
“I’mFalwick,CountofMoën.AndthisknightisTailles,fromDorndal.”
Geralt bowed cursorily, looking at the knights. Both wore armor and
crimsoncloakswiththeemblemoftheWhiteRoseontheirleftshoulder.He
wassomewhatsurprisedas,sofarasheknew,therewasnoCommanderyof
thatOrderintheneighborhood.
Nenneke,toallappearancessmilinglightheartedlyandatease,noticedhis
surprise.
“These nobly born gentlemen,” she said casually, settling herself more
comfortably in her throne-like armchair, “are in the service of Duke
Hereward,whogovernstheselandsmostmercifully.”
“Prince.”Tailles,theyoungeroftheknights,correctedheremphatically,
fixinghishostilepaleblueeyesonthepriestess.“PrinceHereward.”
“Let’snotwastetimewithdetailsandtitles.”Nennekesmiledmockingly.
“Inmyday,onlythosewithroyalbloodwereaddressedasprinces,butnow,it
seems, titles don’t mean so much. Let’s get back to our introductions, and
whytheKnightsoftheWhiteRosearevisitingmyhumbletemple.Youknow,
Geralt, that the Chapter is requesting investitures for the Order from
Hereward, which is why so many Knights of the Rose have entered his
service. And a number of locals, like Tailles here, have taken vows and
assumedtheredcloakwhichbecomeshimsowell.”
“Myhonor.”Thewitcherbowedoncemore,justascursorilyasbefore.
“I doubt it,” the priestess remarked coldly. “They haven’t come here to
honoryou.Quitetheopposite.They’vearriveddemandingthatyouleaveas
soonaspossible.Inshort,they’reheretochaseyouout.Youconsiderthatan
honor?Idon’t.Iconsideritaninsult.”
“The noble knights have troubled themselves for no reason.” Geralt
shrugged.“Idon’tintendtosettlehere.I’mleavingofmyownaccordwithout
anyadditionalincentives,andsoonatthat.”
“Immediately,”growledTailles.“Withnotamoment’sdelay.Theprince
orders—”
“In this temple, I give the orders,” interrupted Nenneke in a cold,
authoritativevoice.“Iusuallytrytoensuremyordersdon’tconflicttoomuch
with Hereward’s politics, as far as those politics are logical and
understandable.Inthiscasetheyareirrational,soIwon’ttreatthemanymore
seriouslythantheydeserve.Geralt,witcherofRivia,ismyguest.Hisstayisa
74
pleasuretome.Sohewillstayinmytempleforaslongashewishes.”
“Youhavetheaudacitytocontradicttheprince,woman?”Taillesshouted,
thenthrewhiscloakbackoverhisshouldertorevealhisgrooved,brass-edged
breastplateinallitssplendor.“Youdaretoquestionourruler’sauthority?”
“Quiet,” Nenneke snapped, and narrowed her eyes. “Lower your voice.
Haveacarewhoyouspeaktolikethat.”
“I know who I’mtalking to!” The knightadvanced a step. Falwick,the
olderknight,grabbedhimfirmlybytheelbowandsqueezeduntilthearmor-
platedgauntletgrated.Taillesyankedfuriously.“Andmywordsexpressthe
prince’swill,thelordofthisestate!Wehavegotsoldiersintheyard,woman
—”
Nennekereachedintothepurseatherbeltandtookoutasmallporcelain
jar.“Ireallydon’tknow,”shesaidcalmly,“whatwillhappenifIsmashthis
container at your feet, Tailles. Maybe your lungs will burst. Maybe you’ll
growfur.Ormaybeboth,whoknows?OnlymercifulMelitele.”
“Don’tdarethreatenmewithyourspells,priestess!Oursoldiers—”
“If any one of your soldiers touches one of Melitele’s priestesses, they
will hang, before dusk, from the acacias along the road to town. And they
knowthatverywell.Asdoyou,Tailles,sostopactinglikeafool.Idelivered
you,youshittybrat,andIpityyourmother,butdon’ttemptfate.Anddon’t
forcemetoteachyoumanners!”
“All right, all right,” the witcher butted in, growing bored. “It looks as
though I’m becoming the cause of a serious conflict and I don’t see why I
should.SirFalwick,youlookmorelevelheadedthanyourcompanionwho,I
see,isbesidehimselfwithyouthfulenthusiasm.Listen,Falwick,Iassureyou
thatI willleaveina fewdays.I alsoassureyouthat Ihaveno intentionto
workhere,toundertakeanycommissionsororders.I’mnothereasawitcher,
butonpersonalbusiness.”
Count Falwick met his eyes and Geralt realized his mistake. There was
pure, unwavering hatred in the White Rose knight’s eyes. The witcher was
surethat it was not Duke Hereward who waschasing him out,but Falwick
andhislike.
TheknightturnedtoNenneke,bowedwithrespectandbegantospeak.He
spokecalmlyandpolitely.Hespokelogically.ButGeraltknewFalwickwas
lyingthroughhisteeth.
“VenerableNenneke,Iaskyourforgiveness,butPrinceHerewardwillnot
toleratethepresenceofthiswitcheronhislands.Itisofnoimportanceifheis
hunting monsters or claims to be here on personal business—the prince
75
knowsthatwitchers do not undertakepersonalbusiness.But they do attract
troublelikeamagnetfilings.Thewizardsarerebellingandwritingpetitions,
thedruidsarethreatening—”
“Idon’tseewhyGeraltshouldbeartheconsequencesoftheunrulinessof
local wizards and druids,” interrupted the priestess. “Since when has
Herewardbeeninterestedineither’sopinion?”
“Enoughofthisdiscussion.”Falwickstiffened.“HaveInotmademyself
sufficiently clear, venerable Nenneke? I will make it so clear as can’t be
clearer: neither the prince nor the Chapter of the Order will tolerate the
presenceofthiswitcher,Geralt,theButcherofBlaviken,inEllanderforone
moreday.”
“This isn’t Ellander!” The priestess sprang from her chair. “This is the
templeofMelitele! AndI,Nenneke,thehigh priestess ofMelitele,will not
tolerateyourpresenceontemplegroundsaminutelonger,sirs!”
“Sir Falwick,” the witcher said quietly, “listen to the voice of reason. I
don’twantanytrouble,nordoIbelievethatyouparticularlycareforit.I’ll
leavethisneighborhoodwithinthreedays.No,Nenneke,don’tsayanything,
please.It’stimeformetobeonmyway.Threedays.Idon’taskformore.”
“Andyou’rerightnottoask.”ThepriestessspokebeforeFalwickcould
react. “Did you hear, boys? The witcher will remain here for three days
because that’s his fancy. And I, priestess of Great Melitele, will for those
three days be his host, for that is my fancy. Tell that to Hereward. No, not
Hereward.Tellthattohiswife,thenobleErmellia,addingthatifshewantsto
continue receiving an uninterrupted supply of aphrodisiacs from my
pharmacy, she’d better calm her duke down. Let her curb his humors and
whims,whichlookevermorelikesymptomsofidiocy.”
“Enough!” Tailles shouted so shrilly his voice broke into a falsetto. “I
don’tintendtostandbyandlistenassomecharlataninsultsmylordandhis
wife!Iwillnotletsuchaninsultpassunnoticed!ItistheOrderoftheWhite
Rose which will rule here, now; it’s the end of your nests of darkness and
superstitions.AndI,aKnightoftheWhiteRose—”
“Shut up, you brat,” interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily. “Halt your
uncontrolled little tongue. You speak to a lady who deserves respect,
especiallyfromaKnightoftheWhiteRose.Admittedly,tobecomeoneit’s
enough,lately,topayathousandNovigradcrownsintotheChapter’streasury,
so the Order’s full of sons of moneylenders and tailors—but surely some
mannershavesurvived?ButmaybeI’mmistaken?”
Taillesgrewpaleandreachedtohisside.
76
“SirFalwick,”saidGeralt,notceasingto smile.“Ifhedrawshissword,
I’lltakeitfromhimandbeatthesnotty-nosedlittlebrat’sarsewiththeflatof
hisblade.AndthenI’llbatterthedoordownwithhim.”
Tailles,hishandsshaking,pulledanirongauntletfromhisbeltand,witha
crash,threwittothegroundatthewitcher’sfeet.
“I’ll wash away the insult to the Order with your blood, mutant!” he
yelled.“Onbeatenground!Gointotheyard!”
“You’vedroppedsomething,son,”Nenneke said calmly. “So pickitup;
we don’t leave rubbish here. This is a temple. Falwick, take that fool from
hereorthiswillendingrief.Youknowwhatyou’retotellHereward.AndI’ll
writeapersonallettertohim;youdon’tlookliketrustworthymessengersto
me.Getoutofhere.Youcanfindyourwayout,Ihope?”
Falwick, restraining the enraged Tailles with an iron grip, bowed, his
armorclattering.Thenhelookedthewitcherintheeyes.Thewitcherdidn’t
smile.Falwickthrewhiscrimsoncloakoverhisshoulders.
“Thiswasn’tourlastvisit,venerableNenneke,”hesaid.“We’llbeback.”
“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” replied the priestess coldly. “The
displeasure’smine.”
77
THELESSEREVIL
78
I
Asusual,catsandchildrennoticedhimfirst.Astripedtomcatsleepingona
sun-warmedstackofwood,shuddered,raisedhisroundhead,pulledbackhis
ears, hissed and bolted off into the nettles. Three-year-old Dragomir,
fishermanTrigla’sson,whowassittingonthehut’sthresholddoinghisbest
tomakedirtieranalreadydirtyshirt,startedtoscreamashefixedhistearful
eyesonthepassingrider.
The witcher rode slowly, without trying to overtake the hay-cart
obstructingthe road.Aladendonkey trottedbehindhim, stretchingitsneck
andconstantlypullingthecordtiedtothewitcher’spommeltight.Inaddition
totheusualbags,thelong-earedanimalwasluggingalargeshape,wrapped
inasaddlecloth,onitsback.Thegray-whiteflanksoftheasswerecovered
withblackstreaksofdriedblood.
Thecartfinallyturneddownasidestreetleadingtoagranaryandharbor
fromwhichaseabreezeblew,carryingthestinkoftarandox’surine.Geralt
pickeduphispace.Hedidn’treacttothemuffledcryofthewomanselling
vegetableswhowasstaringatthebony,talonedpawstickingoutbeneaththe
horseblanket,bobbingupanddownintimewiththedonkey’strot.Hedidn’t
lookroundatthecrowdgatheringbehindhimandripplingwithexcitement.
Therewere,asusual,manycartsinfrontofthealderman’shouse.Geralt
jumpedfromthesaddle,adjustedtheswordonhisbackandthrewthereins
over the wooden barrier. The crowd following him formed a semi-circle
aroundthedonkey.
Evenoutside,thealderman’sshoutswereaudible.
“It’s forbidden,Itell you!Forbidden,goddammit! Can’tyouunderstand
whatIsay,youscoundrel?”
Geraltentered.Infrontofthealderman,small,podgyandredwithrage,
stoodavillagerholdingastrugglinggoosebytheneck.
“What—Byall thegods!Is thatyou,Geralt?Domyeyesdeceiveme?”
Andturningtothepeasantagain:“Takeitaway,youboor!Areyoudeaf?”
“They said,” mumbled the villager, squinting at the goose, “that a wee
somethingmustbegiventohislordship,otherways—”
“Whosaid?”yelledthealderman.“Who?ThatIsupposedlytakebribes?I
won’tallowit,Isay!Awaywithyou!Greetings,Geralt.”
“Greetings,Caldemeyn.”
Thealdermansqueezedthewitcher’shand,slappedhimontheshoulder.
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“Youhaven’tbeenhereforagoodtwoyears,Geralt.Eh?Youcanneverstay
inoneplaceforlong,canyou?Whereareyoucomingfrom?Ah,dog’sarse,
what’sthedifferencewhere?Hey,somebodybringussomebeer!Sitdown,
Geralt,sitdown.It’smayhemherebecausewe’vethemarkettomorrow.How
arethingswithyou,tellme!”
“Later.Comeoutsidefirst.”
The crowd outside had grown twofold but the empty space around the
donkeyhadn’tgrownanysmaller.Geraltthrewthehorseblanketaside.The
crowdgaspedandpulledback.Caldemeyn’smouthfellopen.
“Byallthegods,Geralt!Whatisit?”
“Akikimora.Isthereanyrewardforit?”
Caldemeynshiftedfromfoottofoot,lookingatthespideryshapewithits
dryblackskin,thatglassyeyewithitsverticalpupil,theneedle-likefangsin
thebloodyjaws.
“Where—Fromwhere—?”
“On the dyke, not some four miles from town. On the swamps.
Caldemeyn,peoplemusthavedisappearedthere.Children.”
“Well, yes, true enough. But nobody—Who could have guessed—Hey,
folks,gohome,getbacktowork!Thisisn’tashow!Coveritup,Geralt.Flies
aregathering.”
Backinside,thealdermangrabbedalargejugofbeerwithoutawordand
drankittothelastdropinonedraught.Hesigheddeeplyandsniffed.
“There’snoreward,”hesaidgloomily.“Noonesuspectedthattherewas
something like that lurking in the salt marshes. It’s true that several people
have disappeared in those parts, but…Hardly anyone loitered on that dyke.
Andwhywereyouthere?Whyweren’tyoutakingthemainroad?”
“It’shardformetomakealivingonmainroads,Caldemeyn.”
“Iforgot.”Thealdermansuppressedabelch,puffingouthischeeks.“And
thisusedtobesuchapeacefulneighborhood.Evenimpsonlyrarelypissedin
the women’s milk. And here, right next to us, some sort of felispectre. It’s
onlyfittingthatIthankyou.Becauseasforpayingyou,Ican’t.Ihaven’tthe
funds.”
“That’sashame.Icoulddowithasmallsumtogetthroughthewinter.”
Thewitchertookasipfromhisjug,wipedawaythefroth.“I’mmakingmy
waytoYspaden,butIdon’tknowifI’llgettherebeforethesnowsblockthe
way.ImightgetstuckinoneofthelittletownsontheLutonskiroad.”
“DoyouplantostaylonginBlaviken?”
“No.I’venotimetowaste.Winter’scoming.”
80
“Whereareyougoingtostay?Withmeperhaps?There’sanemptyroom
in the attic. Why getfleecedby the innkeepers, thosethieves.We’ll have a
chatandyoucantellmewhat’shappeninginthebig,wideworld.”
“Willingly. But what will Libushe have to say about it? It was quite
obviouslasttimethatshe’snotverykeenonme.”
“Women don’t have a say in my house. But, just between us, don’t do
whatyoudidduringsupperlasttimeinfrontofheragain.”
“YoumeanwhenIthrewmyforkatthatrat?”
“No.Imeanwhenyouhitit,eveninthedark.”
“Ithoughtitwouldbeamusing.”
“It was. But don’t do it in front of Libushe. And listen, this…what’s it
called…kiki—”
“Kikimora.”
“Doyouneeditforanything?”
“WhatwouldIwantitfor?Youcanhavethemthrowitinthecesspoolif
there’snorewardforit.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Hey, Karelka, Borg, Carry-pebble! Any of you
there?”
Atownguardenteredwithahalberdonhisshoulder,thebladecatching
thedoorframewithacrash.
“Carrypebble,”saidCaldemeyn.“Getsomebodytohelpyouandtakethe
donkey with that muck wrapped up in the horse blanket, lead it past the
pigstiesandchuckthekikimorainthecesspool.Understood?”
“Atyourcommand.But…Alderman,sir—”
“What?”
“Maybebeforewedrownthathideousthing—”
“Well?”
“WecouldshowittoMasterIrion.Itmightbeusefultohim.”
Caldemeynslappedhisforeheadwithhisopenpalm.
“You’re not stupid,Carrypebble. Listen, Geralt, maybeour local wizard
willspareyousomethingforthatcarcass.Thefishermenbringhimtheoddest
offish—octopedes,clabatersorherrongs—manyhavemadesomemoneyon
them.Comeon,let’sgotothetower.”
“You’vegotyourselvesawizard?Ishehereforgoodoronlypassing?”
“For good. Master Irion. He’s been living in Blaviken for a year. A
powerfulmagus,Geralt,you’llseethatfromhisveryappearance.”
“I doubt whether a powerful magus will pay for a kikimora,” Geralt
grimaced.“Asfar asIknow, it’snot needed foranyelixirs.Your Irion will
81
onlyinsultme,nodoubt.Wewitchersandwizardsdon’tloveeachother.”
“I’veneverheardofMasterIrioninsultinganyone.Ican’tswearthathe’ll
pay you but there’s noharmin trying. There mightbemore kikimoras like
thatonthe marshes and what then? Let the wizard look at the monster and
castsomesortofspellonthemarshlandsorsomething,justincase.”
Thewitcherthoughtforamoment.
“Verywell,Caldemeyn.Whattheheck,we’llriskameetingwithMaster
Irion.Shallwego?”
“We’re off. Carrypebble, chase the kids away and bring the floppyears.
Where’smyhat?”
82
II
Thetower,builtfromsmoothlyhewnblocksofgraniteandcrownedbytooth-
likebattlements,wasimpressive,dominatingthebrokentilesofhomesteads
anddipping-roofedthatchedcottages.
“He’srenovatedit,Isee,”remarkedGeralt.“Withspells,ordidhehave
youworkingatit?”
“Spells,chiefly.”
“What’shelike,thisIrion?”
“Decent.Hehelpspeople.Buthe’sarecluse,doesn’tsaymuch.Herarely
leavesthetower.”
On the door, which was adorned with a rosace inlaid with pale wood,
hungahugeknockerintheshapeofaflatbulging-eyedfish-headholdinga
brass ring in its toothed jaws. Caldemeyn, obviously well-versed with the
workingsofitsmechanics,approached,clearedhisthroatandrecited:
“AldermanCaldemeyngreetsyouwithacaseforMasterIrion.Withhim
greetsyou,WitcherGeralt,withrespecttothesamecase.”
Foralongmomentnothinghappened;thenfinallythefish-headmovedits
toothedmandiblesandbelchedacloudofsteam.
“MasterIrionisnotreceiving.Leave,mygoodpeople.”
Caldemeyn waddled on the spot and looked at Geralt. The witcher
shrugged.Carrypebblepickedhisnosewithseriousconcentration.
“Master Irion is not receiving,” the knocker repeated metallically. “Go,
mygood—”
“I’m not a good person,” Geralt broke in loudly. “I’m a witcher. That
thingonthedonkeyisakikimora,andIkilleditnotfarfromtown.Itisthe
duty of every resident wizard to look after the safety of the neighborhood.
MasterIriondoesnothavetohonormewithconversation,doesnothaveto
receiveme,ifthatishiswill.Butlethimexaminethekikimoraanddrawhis
ownconclusions.Carrypebble,unstrapthekikimoraandthrowitdownbythe
door.”
“Geralt,”thealdermansaidquietly.“You’regoingtoleavebutI’mgoing
tohaveto—”
“Let’sgo,Caldemeyn.Carrypebble,takethatfingeroutofyournoseand
doasIsaid.”
“Onemoment,”theknockersaidinanentirelydifferenttone.“Geralt,is
thatreallyyou?”
83
Thewitchersworequietly.
“I’mlosingpatience.Yes,it’sreallyme.Sowhat?”
“Come up to the door,” said the knocker, puffing out a small cloud of
steam.“Alone.I’llletyouin.”
“Whataboutthekikimora?”
“To hell with it. I want to talk to you, Geralt. Just you. Forgive me,
Alderman.”
“What’s it to me, Master Irion?” Caldemeyn waved the matter aside.
“Takecare,Geralt.We’llseeeachotherlater.Carrypebble!Intothecesspool
withthemonster!”
“Asyoucommand.”
The witcher approached the inlaid door, which opened a little bit—just
enoughforhimtosqueezethrough—andthenslammedshut,leavinghimin
completedarkness.
“Hey!”heshouted,nothidinghisanger.
“Justamoment,”answeredastrangelyfamiliarvoice.
The feeling was so unexpected that the witcher staggered and stretched
outhishand,lookingforsupport.Hedidn’tfindany.
The orchard was blossoming with white and pink, and smelled of rain.
The sky was split by the many-colored arc of a rainbow, which bound the
crownsofthetreestothedistant,bluechainofmountains.Thehousenestled
intheorchard,tinyandmodest,wasdrowninginhollyhocks.Geraltlooked
downanddiscoveredthathewasuptohiskneesinthyme.
“Well,comeon,Geralt,”saidthevoice.“I’minfrontofthehouse.”
Heenteredtheorchard,walkingthroughthetrees.Henoticedamovement
tohisleftandlookedround.A fair-hairedgirl, entirely naked, was walking
alongarowofshrubscarryingabasketfullofapples.Thewitchersolemnly
promisedhimselfthatnothingwouldsurprisehimanymore.
“Atlast.Greetings,witcher.”
“Stregobor!”Geraltwassurprised.
During his life, the witcher had met thieves who looked like town
councilors, councilors who looked like beggars, harlots who looked like
princesses, princesses who looked like calving cows and kings who looked
like thieves. But Stregobor always looked as, according to every rule and
notion,awizardshouldlook.Hewastall,thinandstooping,withenormous
bushygrayeyebrowsandalong,crookednose.Totopitoff,heworeablack,
trailingrobewithimprobablywidesleeves,andwieldedalongstaffcapped
withacrystalknob.NoneofthewizardsGeraltknewlookedlikeStregobor.
84
MostsurprisingofallwasthatStregoborwas,indeed,awizard.
They sat in wicker chairs at a white marble-topped table on a porch
surrounded by hollyhocks. The naked blonde with the apple basket
approached,smiled,turnedand,swayingherhips,returnedtotheorchard.
“Isthatanillusion,too?”askedGeralt,watchingthesway.
“Itis.Likeeverythinghere.Butitis,myfriend,afirst-classillusion.The
flowerssmell,youcaneatthe apples, the bee can sting you, and she”—the
wizardindicatedtheblonde—“youcan—”
“Maybelater.”
“Quiteright.Whatareyoudoinghere,Geralt?Areyoustilltoilingaway,
killing the last representatives of dying species for money? How much did
yougetforthekikimora?Nothing,Iguess,oryouwouldn’thavecomehere.
Andto thinkthattherearepeoplewhodon’tbelieve indestiny. Unlessyou
knewaboutme.Didyou?”
“No,Ididn’t.It’sthelastplaceIcouldhaveexpectedyou.Ifmymemory
servesmecorrectly,youusedtoliveinasimilartowerinKovir.”
“Agreatdealhaschangedsincethen.”
“Suchasyourname.Apparently,you’reMasterIrionnow.”
“That’sthename oftheman whocreatedthistower.Hediedabouttwo
hundredyearsago, andIthoughtit righttohonor him insomeway since I
occupiedhisabode.I’mlivinghere.Mostoftheinhabitantsliveoffthesea
and,asyouknow,myspeciality,apartfromillusions,isweather.Sometimes
I’ll calm a storm, sometimes conjure one up, sometimes drive schools of
whiting and cod closer to the shoreswith the westerly wind. I can survive.
Thatis,”headded,miserably,“Icould.”
“Howcome‘Icould’?Whythechangeofname?”
“Destinyhasmanyfaces.Mineisbeautifulontheoutsideandhideouson
theinside.Shehasstretchedherbloodytalonstowardme—”
“You’venot changedabit,Stregobor.”Geraltgrimaced.“You’retalking
nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces. Can’t you speak
normally?”
“Ican,”sighedthewizard.“Icanifthatmakesyouhappy.Imadeitall
the way here, hiding and running from a monstrous being that wants to
murder me. My escape proved in vain—it found me. In all probability, it’s
goingtotrytokillmetomorrow,oratthelatest,thedayafter.”
“Aha,”saidthewitcherdispassionately.“NowIunderstand.”
“Myfacingdeathdoesn’timpressyoumuch,doesit?”
“Stregobor,”saidGeralt,“that’sthewayoftheworld.Oneseesallsortsof
85
thingswhenonetravels.Twopeasantskilleachotheroverafieldwhich,the
followingday,willbetrampledflatbytwocountsandtheirretinuestryingto
kill each other off. Men hang from trees at the roadside; brigands slash
merchants’throats.Ateverystepintownyoutripovercorpsesinthegutters.
In palaces they stabeach other with daggers,and somebody falls underthe
tableatabanqueteveryminute,bluefrompoisoning.I’musedtoit.Sowhy
shouldadeaththreatimpressme,andonedirectedatyouatthat?”
“One directed at me at that,” Stregobor repeated with a sneer. “And I
consideredyouafriend.Countedonyourhelp.”
“Ourlastmeeting,”saidGeralt,“wasinthecourtofKingIdiofKovir.I’d
cometo bepaidfor killingtheamphisboenawhichhad beenterrorizingthe
neighborhood. You and your compatriot Zavist vied with each other to call
me a charlatan, a thoughtless murdering machine and a scavenger.
Consequently,notonlydidn’tIdipaymeapenny,hegavemetwelvehoursto
leaveKovirand,sincehishourglasswasbroken,Ibarelymadeit.Andnow
yousayyou’recountingonmyhelp.Yousayamonster’safteryou.Whatare
youafraidof,Stregobor?Ifitcatchesupwithyou,tellityoulikemonsters,
thatyouprotectthemandmakesurenowitcherscavengerevertroublestheir
peace. Indeed, if the monster disembowels and devours you, it’ll prove
terriblyungrateful.”
Thewizardturnedhisheadawaysilently.Geraltlaughed.“Don’tgetall
puffed up like a frog, magician. Tell me what’s threatening you. We’ll see
whatcanbedone.”
“HaveyouheardoftheCurseoftheBlackSun?”
“Butofcourse.ExceptthatitwascalledtheManiaofMadEltibaldafter
thewizard whostartedthelarkand causeddozensof girlsfromgood, even
noble,familiestobemurderedorimprisonedintowers.Theyweresupposed
tohavebeenpossessedbydemons,cursed,contaminatedbytheBlackSun,
because that’s what, in your pompous jargon, you called the most ordinary
eclipseintheworld.”
“Eltibaldwasn’tmadatall.HedecipheredthewritingonDaukmenhirs,
on tombstones in the Wozgor necropolises, and examined the legends and
traditionsofweretots.Allofthemspokeoftheeclipseinnouncertainterms.
TheBlackSunwastoannouncetheimminentreturnofLilit,stillhonoredin
the East under the nameof Niya, and the exterminationofthe human race.
Lilit’s path was to be prepared by ‘sixty women wearinggoldcrowns,who
wouldfilltherivervalleyswithblood.’”
“Nonsense,” said the witcher. “And what’s more, it doesn’t rhyme. All
86
decentpredictionsrhyme.EveryoneknowswhatEltibaldandtheCouncilof
Wizardshadinmindatthetime.Youtookadvantageofamadman’sravings
to strengthen your own authority. To break up alliances, ruin marriage
allegiances, stir up dynasties. In a word: to tangle the strings of crowned
puppetsevenmore.Andhereyouarelecturingmeaboutpredictions,which
anyoldstorytelleratthemarketplacewouldbeashamedof.”
“YoucanhaveyourreservationsaboutEltibald’stheories,abouthowthe
predictionswereinterpreted.Butyoucan’tchallengethefactthattherehave
beenhorrendousmutationsamonggirlsbornjustaftertheeclipse.”
“Andwhynot?I’veheardquitetheopposite.”
“Iwaspresentwhentheydidanautopsyononeofthem,”saidthewizard.
“Geralt,whatwefoundinsidetheskullandmarrowcouldnotbedescribed.
Somesortofredsponge.Theinternalorganswereallmixedup,somewere
missing completely. Everything was covered in moving cilia, bluish-pink
shreds. The heart was six-chambered, with two chambers practically
atrophied.Whatdoyousaytothat?”
“I’ve seen people with eagles’ talons instead of hands, people with a
wolf’s fangs. People with additional joints,additional organsand additional
senses.Allofwhichweretheeffectsofyourmessingaboutwithmagic.”
“You’ve seen all sorts of mutations, you say.” The magician raised his
head.“And howmanyof themhaveyou slaughteredformoney, inkeeping
withyourwitcher’scalling?Well?Becauseonecanhaveawolf’sfangsand
gonofurtherthanbaringthematthetrollopsintaverns,oronecanhave a
wolf’s nature, too, and attack children. And that’s just how it was with the
girls who were born after the eclipse. Their outright insane tendency to
cruelty, aggression, sudden bursts of anger and an unbridled temperament
werenoted.”
“You can say that about any woman,” sneered Geralt. “What are you
driveling on about? You’re asking me how many mutants I’ve killed. Why
aren’t you interested in how many I’ve extricated from spells, freed from
curses?I, awitcherdespised byyou.Andwhathaveyoudone,you mighty
magicians?”
“A higher magic was used. Ours and that of the priests, in various
temples.Allattemptsendedinthegirls’deaths.”
“Thatspeaksbadlyofyou,notthegirls.Andsowe’venowgotthefirst
corpses.Itakeittheonlyautopsiesweredoneonthem?”
“No.Don’tlookatmelikethat;youknowverywellthatthereweremore
corpses,too.Itwasinitiallydecidedtoeliminateallofthem.Wegotridofa
87
few…autopsies were done on all of them. One of them was even
vivisectioned.”
“And you sons of bitches have the nerve to criticize witchers? Oh,
Stregobor, the day will come when people will learn, and get the better of
you.”
“Idon’tthinkadaylikethatwillcomesoon,”saidthewizardcaustically.
“Don’tforgetthat we wereacting inthe people’s defense.The mutant girls
wouldhavedrownedentirecountriesinblood.”
“Sosayyou magicians, turningyournosesup, so high andmightywith
youraurasofinfallibility.Whilewe’reonthesubject,surelyyou’renotgoing
totellmethatinyourhuntfortheseso-calledmutantsyouhaven’toncemade
amistake?”
“Allright,”said Stregobor afteralongsilence.“I’ll be honest,although
for my own sake I shouldn’t. We did make a mistake—more than one.
Picking them out was extremely difficult. And that’s why we stopped…
gettingridofthem,andstartedisolatingtheminstead.”
“Yourfamoustowers,”snortedthewitcher.
“Our towers. But that was another mistake. We underestimated them.
Manyescaped.Thensomemadfashiontofreeimprisonedbeautiestookhold
ofprinces,especailytheyoungerones,whodidn’thavemuchtodoandstill
lesstolose.Mostofthem,fortunately,twistedtheirnecks—”
“AsfarasIknow,thoseimprisonedinthetowersdiedquickly.It’sbeen
saidyoumusthavehelpedthemsomewhat.”
“That’s a lie. But it is true thatthey quicklyfell into apathy, refused to
eat…Whatisinterestingisthatshortlybeforetheydied,theyshowedsignsof
thegiftofclairvoyance.Furtherproofofmutation.”
“Yourproofsarebecomingeverlessconvincing.Doyouhaveanymore?”
“Ido.Silvena,theladyofNarok,whomwenevermanagedtogetcloseto
becauseshegainedpowersoquickly.TerriblethingsarehappeninginNarok
now.Fialka,Evermir’sdaughter,escapedhertowerusingahomemaderope
andisnowterrorizingNorthVelhad.BernikaofTalgarwasfreedbyanidiot
prince.Nowhe’ssittinginadungeon,blinded,andthemostcommonfeature
oftheTalgarlandscapeisasetofgallows.Thereareotherexamples,too.”
“Of course there are,” said the witcher. “In Yamurlak, for instance, old
man Abrad reigns. He’s got scrofula, not a single tooth in his head, was
probably born some hundred years before thiseclipse, and can’t fall asleep
unlesssomeone’sbeingtorturedtodeathinhispresence.He’swipedoutall
hisrelativesandemptiedhalfofthecountryincrazy—howdidyouputit?—
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attacksofanger.Therearealsotracesofarampanttemperament.Apparently
he was nicknamed Abrad Jack-up-the-Skirt in his youth. Oh, Stregobor, it
wouldbegreatifthecrueltyofrulerscouldbeexplainedawaybymutations
orcurses.”
“Listen,Geralt—”
“No. You won’t win me over with your reasons nor convince me that
Eltibad wasn’t a murdering madman, so let’s get back to the monster
threatening you. You’d better understand that, after the introduction you’ve
givenme,Idon’tlikethestory.ButI’llhearyouout.”
“Withoutinterruptingwithspitefulcomments?”
“ThatIcan’tpromise.”
“Oh well”—Stregobor slipped his hands into the sleeves of his robe
—“then it’ll only take longer. Well, the story begins in Creyden, a small
principalityin the north.ThewifeofFredefalk, thePrinceofCreyden, was
Aridea, a wise, educated woman. She had many exceptional adepts of the
magicalartsinherfamilyand—throughinheritance,nodoubt—shecameinto
possession of a rare and powerful artifact. One of Nehalenia’s Mirrors.
They’rechieflyusedbyprophetsandoraclesbecausetheypredictthefuture
accurately,albeitintricately.ArideaquiteoftenturnedtotheMirror—”
“With the usual question, I take it,” interrupted Geralt. “ ‘Who is the
fairest of them all?’ I know; all Nehalenia’s Mirrors are either polite or
broken.”
“You’rewrong.Arideawasmoreinterestedinhercountry’sfate.Andthe
Mirroransweredherquestionsbypredictingahorribledeathforherandfora
greatnumberofothersbythehand,orfault,ofFredefalk’sdaughterfromhis
firstmarriage.ArideaensuredthisnewsreachedtheCouncil,andtheCouncil
sent me to Creyden. I don’t have to add that Fredefalk’s firstborn daughter
wasbornshortlyaftertheeclipse.Iwasquitediscreetforalittlewhile.She
managed to torture a canary and two puppies during that time, and also
gougedoutaservant’seyewiththehandleofacomb.Icarriedoutafewtests
usingcurses,andmostofthemconfirmedthatthelittleonewasamutant.I
wenttoArideawiththenewsbecauseFredefalk’sdaughtermeanttheworld
tohim.Aridea,asIsaid,wasn’tstupid—”
“Of course,” Geralt interrupted again, “and no doubt she wasn’t head-
over-heels in love withher stepdaughter. She preferredher own children to
inherit the throne. I can guess what followed. How come nobody throttled
her?Andyou,too,whiletheywereatit.”
Stregoborsighed,raisedhiseyestoheaven,wheretherainbowwas still
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shimmeringcolorfullyandpicturesquely.
“Iwantedtoisolateher,butArideadecidedotherwise.Shesentthelittle
oneoutintotheforestwithahiredthug,atrapper.Wefoundhimlaterinthe
undergrowth…withoutanytrousers,soitwasn’thardtorecreatetheturnof
events. She had dug a brooch-pin into his brain, through his ear, no doubt
whilehisattentionwasonentirelydifferentmatters.”
“IfyouthinkIfeelsorryforhim,”mutteredGeralt,“thenyou’rewrong.”
“We organized a manhunt,” continued Stregobor, “but all traces of the
little one had disappeared. I had to leave Creyden in a hurry because
Fredefalk was beginning to suspect something. Then, four years later I
receivednewsfromAridea.She’dtrackeddownthelittleone,whowasliving
in Mahakam with seven gnomes whom she’d managed to convince it was
moreprofitabletorobmerchantsontheroadsthantopollutetheirlungswith
dustfromthe mines.Shewasknown as Shrikebecausesheliked to impale
the people she caught on a sharp pole while they were still alive. Several
timesArideahiredassassins,butnoneofthemreturned.Well,thenitbecame
hardtofindanyonetotry—Shrikehadalreadybecomequitefamous.She’d
learnedtouseaswordsowelltherewashardlyamanwhocoulddefyher.I
wassummoned,andarrivedinCreydensecretly,onlytolearnthatsomeone
had poisoned Aridea. It was generally believed that it was the work of
Fredefalk, who had found himself a younger, more robust mistress—but I
thinkitwasRenfri.”
“Renfri?”
“That’s what she was called. I said she’d poisoned Aridea. Shortly
afterward,Prince Fredefalkdiedin astrangehunting accident,andAridea’s
eldestsondisappeared without aword.Thatmust have beenthelittleone’s
doing, too. I say ‘little’ butshewas seventeen by then. Andshe waspretty
well-developed.
“Meanwhile,”thewizardpickedupafteramoment’sbreak,“sheandher
gnomeshadbecometheterrorofthewholeofMahakam.Until,oneday,they
arguedaboutsomething.Idon’tknowwhat—sharingouttheloot,orwhose
turnitwastospendthenightwithher—anyway,theyslaughteredeachother
withknives.OnlyShrikesurvived.Onlyher.AndIwasintheneighborhood
atthetime.Wemetface-to-face:sherecognizedmeinaflashandknewthe
partI’dplayedinCreyden.Itellyou,Geralt,Ihadbarelymanagedtouttera
curse—andmyhandswereshakinglikeanything—whenthatwildcatflewat
mewithasword.Iturnedherintoaneatslabofmountaincrystal,sixellsby
nine.Whenshefellintoalethargy,Ithrewtheslabintothegnomes’mineand
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broughtthetunnelsdownonit.”
“Shabbywork,”commentedGeralt.“Thatspellcouldhavebeenreversed.
Couldn’tyouhaveburnthertocinders?Youknowsomanynicespells,after
all.”
“No.It’snotmyspeciality.Butyou’reright.Ididmakeahashofit.Some
idiotprincefoundher,spentafortuneonacounter-curse,reversedthespell
andtriumphantlytookherhometosomeout-of-the-waykingdomintheeast.
His father, an old brigand, proved to have more sense. He gave his son a
hiding,andquestionedShrikeaboutthetreasureswhichsheandthegnomes
hadseizedandwhichshe’dhidden.Hismistakewastoallowhiseldersonto
assisthimwhenhehadherstretchedout,naked,ontheexecutioner’sbench.
Somehow,thefollowingday,thatsameeldestson—nowanorphanbereftof
siblings—was ruling the kingdom, and Shrike had taken over the office of
firstfavorite.”
“Meaningshecan’tbeugly.”
“That’samatteroftaste.Shewasn’tafavoriteforlong.Upuntilthefirst
coupd’étatatthepalace,togiveitagrandname—itwasmorelikeabarn.It
soonbecameclearthatshehadn’tforgottenaboutme.Shetriedtoassassinate
methreetimesinKovir.Idecidednottoriskafourthattemptandtowaither
outin Pontar. Again,shefound me.ThistimeIescaped toAngren,butshe
foundmetheretoo.Idon’tknowhowshedoesit.Icovermytraceswell.It
mustbeafeatureofhermutation.”
“What stopped you from casting another spell to turn her into crystal?
Scruples?”
“No.Idon’thaveanyofthose.Shehadbecomeresistanttomagic.”
“That’simpossible.”
“It’snot.It’senoughtohavetherightartifactoraura.Orthiscouldalso
beassociatedwithhermutation,whichisprogressing.IescapedfromAngren
andhidhere,inArcsea,inBlaviken.I’velivedinpeaceforayear,butshe’s
trackedmedownagain.”
“Howdoyouknow?Isshealreadyintown?”
“Yes.Isawherinthecrystalball.”Thewizardraisedhiswand.“She’snot
alone. She’s leading a gang, which shows that she’s brewing something
serious.Geralt,Idon’thaveanywhereelsetorun.Idon’tknowwhereIcould
hide. The fact that you’ve arrived here exactly at this time can’t be a
coincidence.It’sfate.”
Thewitcherraisedhiseyebrows.“What’sonyourmind?”
“Surelyit’sobvious.You’regoingtokillher.”
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“I’mnotahiredthug,Stregobor.”
“You’renotathug,agreed.”
“I kill monsters for money. Beasts which endanger people. Horrors
conjuredupbyspellsandsorceriescastbythelikesofyou.Notpeople.”
“She’s not human. She’s exactly a monster: a mutant, a cursed mutant.
You brought a kikimora here. Shrike’s worse than a kikimora. A kikimora
killsbecauseit’shungry,butShrikedoesitforpleasure.KillherandI’llpay
youwhateversumyouask.Withinreason,ofcourse.”
“I’ve already told you. I consider the story about mutations and Lilit’s
curseto be nonsense. The girl has her reasonsfor settling heraccount with
you, and I’m not going to get mixed up in it. Turn to the alderman, to the
townguards.You’rethetownwizard;you’reprotectedbymunicipallaw.”
“I spit on the law, the alderman and his help!” exploded Stregobor. “I
don’t need defense. I need you to kill her! Nobody’s going to get into this
tower—I’m completely safe here. But what’s that to me? I don’t intend to
spendtherestofmydayshere,andShrike’snotgoingtogiveupwhileI’m
alive.AmItosithere,inthistower,andwaitfordeath?”
“Theydid.Doyouknowwhat,magician?Youshouldhaveleftthathunt
forthegirlstoother,morepowerful,wizards.Youshouldhaveforeseenthe
consequences.”
“Please,Geralt.”
“No,Stregobor.”
The sorcerer was silent. The unreal sun in its unreal sky hadn’t moved
towardthezenithbutthewitcherknewitwasalreadyduskinBlaviken.He
felthungry.
“Geralt,”saidStregobor,“whenwewerelisteningtoEltibald,manyofus
haddoubts.Butwedecidedtoacceptthelesserevil.NowIaskyoutomakea
similarchoice.”
“Evilisevil,Stregobor,”saidthewitcherseriouslyashegotup.“Lesser,
greater, middling, it’s all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries
blurred.I’m notapioushermit.I haven’tdoneonlygoodinmy life.Butif
I’mtochoosebetweenoneevilandanother,thenIprefernottochooseatall.
Timeformetogo.We’llseeeachothertomorrow.”
“Maybe,”saidthewizard.“Ifyougethereintime.”
92
III
The Golden Court, the country town’s elegant inn, was crowded and noisy.
Theguests,localsandvisitors,weremostlyengagedinactivitiestypicalfor
their nation or profession. Serious merchants argued with dwarves over the
price of goods and credit interest. Less serious merchants pinched the
backsides of the girls carrying beer, cabbage and beans. Local nitwits
pretendedtobewell-informed.Harlotsweretrying topleasethosewhohad
moneywhilediscouragingthosewhohadnone.Cartersandfishermendrank
as if there were no tomorrow. Some seamen were singing a song which
celebrated the ocean waves, the courage of captains and the graces of
mermaids,thelattergraphicallyandinconsiderabledetail.
“Exert your memory, friend,” Caldemeyn said to the innkeeper, leaning
acrossthecounterinordertobeheardoverthedin.“Sixmenandawench,all
dressed in black leather studded with silver in the Novigradian style. I saw
themattheturnpike.AretheystayinghereoratTheTunaFish?”
Theinnkeeperwrinkledhisbulgingforeheadandwipedatankardonhis
stripedapron.
“Here,Alderman,”hefinallysaid.“Theysaythey’vecomeforthemarket
buttheyallcarryswords,eventhewoman.Dressed,asyousaid,inblack.”
“Well.” The alderman nodded. “Where are they now? I don’t see them
here.”
“Inthelesseralcove.Theypaidingold.”
“I’llgoinalone,”saidGeralt.“There’snopointinmakingthisanofficial
affairinfrontofthemall,atleastforthetimebeing.I’llbringherhere.”
“Maybethat’sbest.Butbecareful,Idon’twantanytrouble.”
“I’llbecareful.”
Theseamen’s song, judging bythe growing intensity of obscenewords,
wasreachingitsgrandfinale.Geraltdrewasidethecurtain—stiffandsticky
withdirt—whichhidtheentrancetothealcove.
Sixmenwereseatedatthetable.Shrikewasn’twiththem.
“What’d’you want?” yelled the man who noticed him first. He was
balding and his face was disfigured by a scar which ran across his left
eyebrow,thebridgeofhisnoseandhisrightcheek.
“IwanttoseeShrike.”
Two identical figures stood up—identical motionless faces and fair,
disheveled,shoulder-lengthhair,identicaltight-fittingblackoutfitsglistening
93
withsilverornaments.Andwithidenticalmovements,thetwinstookidentical
swordsfromthebench.
“Keepcalm,Vyr.Sitdown,Nimir,”saidthemanwiththescar,leaninghis
elbows on the table. “Who d’you say you want to see, brother? Who’s
Shrike?”
“YouknowverywellwhoImean.”
“Who’sthis,then?”askedahalf-nakedathlete,sweaty, girdedcrosswise
with belts, and wearing spiked pads on his forearms. “D’you know him,
Nohorn?”
“No,”saidthemanwiththescar.
“It’ssomealbino,”giggledaslim,dark-hairedmansittingnexttoNohorn.
Delicatefeatures,enormousblackeyesandpointedearsbetrayedhimtobea
half-blood elf. “Albino, mutant, freak of nature. And this sort of thing is
allowedtoenterpubsamongdecentpeople.”
“I’ve seen him somewhere before,” said a stocky, weather-beaten man
withaplait,measuringGeraltwithanevillookinhisnarrowedeyes.
“Doesn’t matter where you’ve seen him, Tavik,” said Nohorn. “Listen
here.Civrilinsultedyouterriblyamomentago.Aren’tyougoingtochallenge
him?It’ssuchaboringevening.”
“No,”saidthewitchercalmly.
“And me, if I pour this fish soup over your head, are you going to
challengeme?”cackledthemansittingnakedtothewaist.
“Keepcalm, Fifteen,”saidNohorn.“Hesaidno,thatmeans no.Forthe
timebeing.Well,brother,saywhatyouhavetosayandclearout.You’vegot
one chance to clear out on your own. You don’t take it, the attendants will
carryyouout.”
“Idon’thaveanythingtosaytoyou.IwanttoseeShrike.Renfri.”
“Doyouhearthat,boys?”Nohornlookedaroundathiscompanions.“He
wantstoseeRenfri.AndmayIknowwhy?”
“No.”
Nohorn raised his head and looked at the twins as they took a step
forward,thesilverclaspsontheirhighbootsjangling.
“Iknow,”themanwiththeplaitsaidsuddenly.“IknowwhereI’veseen
himnow!”
“What’sthatyou’remumbling,Tavik?”
“Infrontofthealderman’shouse.Hebroughtsomesortofdragon into
trade, a cross between a spider and a crocodile. People were saying he’s a
witcher.”
94
“Andwhat’sawitcher?”Fifteenasked.“Eh?Civril?”
“Ahiredmagician,”saidthehalf-elf.“Aconjurerforafistfulofsilver.I
toldyou,afreakofnature.Aninsulttohumananddivinelaws.Theyoughtto
beburned,thelikesofhim.”
“Wedon’tlikemagicians,”screechedTavik,nottakinghisnarrowedeyes
offGeralt.“Itseemstome,Civril,thatwe’regoingtohavemoreworkinthis
hole than we thought. There’s more than one of them here and everyone
knowstheysticktogether.”
“Birds of a feather.” The half-breed smiled maliciously. “To think the
likesofyouwalktheearth.Whospawnsyoufreaks?”
“A bitmoretolerance,if youplease,”saidGeralt calmly, “asIseeyour
mothermusthavewanderedoffthroughtheforestaloneoftenenoughtogive
yougoodreasontowonderwhereyoucomefromyourself.”
“Possibly,”answered thehalf-elf,the smilenotleavinghisface.“Butat
leastIknewmymother.Youwitcherscan’tsaythatmuchaboutyourselves.”
Geralt grew a little pale and tightened his lips. Nohorn, noticing it,
laughedoutloud.
“Well,brother,youcan’tletaninsultlikethatgoby.Thatthingthatyou
haveonyourbacklookslikeasword.So?AreyougoingoutsidewithCivril?
Theevening’ssoboring.”
Thewitcherdidn’treact.
“Shittycoward,”snortedTavik.
“What did he say about Civril’s mother?” Nohorn continued
monotonously, resting his chin on hisclasped hands.“Something extremely
nasty,asIunderstoodit.Thatshewasaneasylay,orsomething.Hey,Fifteen,
is it right to listen to some straggler insulting a companion’s mother? A
mother,yousonofabitch,issacred!”
Fifteen got up willingly, undid his sword and threw it on the table. He
stuck his chest out, adjusted the pads spiked with silver studs on his
shoulders,spatandtookastepforward.
“Ifyou’vegotanydoubts,”saidNohorn,“thenFifteenischallengingyou
toafistfight.Itoldyouthey’dcarryyououtofhere.Makeroom.”
Fifteenmovedcloserandraisedhisfists.Geraltputhishandonthehiltof
hissword.
“Careful,”hesaid.“Onemorestepandyou’llbelookingforyourhandon
thefloor.”
NohornandTavikleaptup,grabbingtheirswords.Thesilenttwinsdrew
theirs with identical movements. Fifteen stepped back. Only Civril didn’t
95
move.
“What’sgoingonhere,dammit?Can’tIleaveyoualoneforaminute?”
Geraltturnedroundveryslowlyandlookedintoeyesthecolorofthesea.
Shewasalmostastallashim.Sheworeherstraw-coloredhairunevenly
cut,justbelowtheears.Shestoodwithonehandonthedoor,wearingatight,
velvet jacket clasped with a decorated belt. Her skirt was uneven,
asymmetrical—reaching down toher calf on the left side and, onthe right,
revealingastrongthighaboveabootmadeofelk’sleather.Onherleftside,
shecarriedasword;onherright,adaggerwithahugerubysetinitspommel.
“Lostyourvoices?”
“He’sawitcher,”mumbledNohorn.
“Sowhat?”
“Hewantedtotalktoyou.”
“Sowhat?”
“He’sasorcerer!”Fifteenroared.
“Wedon’tlikesorcerers,”snarledTavik.
“Take it easy, boys,” said the girl. “He wants to talk to me; that’s no
crime.Youcarryonhavingagoodtime.Andnotrouble.Tomorrow’smarket
day. Surely you don’t want your pranks to disrupt the market, such an
importanteventinthelifeofthispleasanttown?”
A quiet, nasty giggle reverberated in the silence which fell. Civril, still
sprawledoutcarelesslyonthebench,waslaughing.
“Comeon,Renfri,”chuckledthehalf-blood.“Important…event!”
“Shutup,Civril.Immediately.”
Civrilstoppedlaughing.Immediately.Geraltwasn’tsurprised.Therewas
somethingverystrangeinRenfri’svoice—somethingassociatedwiththered
reflection of fire on blades, the wailing of people being murdered, the
whinnying of horses and the smell of blood. Others must also have had
similarassociations—evenTavik’sweather-beatenfacegrewpale.
“Well, white-hair,” Renfri broke the silence. “Let’s go into the larger
room.Let’sjointhealdermanyoucamewith.Hewantstotalktometoo,no
doubt.”
Atthesightofthem,Caldemeyn,whowaswaitingatthecounter,broke
offhisquietconversationwiththeinnkeeper,straightenedhimselfandfolded
hisarmsacrosshischest.
“Listen, young lady,” he said severely, not wasting time with banal
niceties,“IknowfromthiswitcherofRiviaherewhatbringsyoutoBlaviken.
Apparentlyyoubearagrudgeagainstourwizard.”
96
“Maybe.Whatofit?”askedRenfriquietly,inanequallybrusquetone.
“Onlythattherearetribunalstodealwithgrudgeslikethat.Hewhowants
to revenge a grudge using steel—here in Arcsea—is considered a common
bandit.Andalso,thateitheryougetoutofBlavikenearlyinthemorningwith
yourblackcompanions,orIthrowyouintoprison,pre—Howdoyousayit,
Geralt?”
“Preventively.”
“Exactly.Understood,younglady?”
Renfri reached into the purse on her belt and pulled out a parchment
whichhadbeenfoldedseveraltimes.
“Readthis,Alderman.Ifyou’reliterate.Anddon’tcallme‘younglady.’”
Caldemeyntooktheparchment,spentalongtimereadingit,then,without
aword,gaveittoGeralt.
“ ‘To my regents, vassals and freemen subjects,’ ” the witcher read out
loud. “ ‘To all and sundry. I proclaim that Renfri, the Princess of Creyden,
remainsinourserviceandiswellseenbyus;whosoeverdaresmaltreether
willincurourwrath.Audoen,King—’Maltreatisnotspelledlikethat.Butthe
sealappearsauthentic.”
“Becauseitisauthentic,”saidRenfri,snatchingtheparchmentfromhim.
“ItwasaffixedbyAudoen,yourmercifullord.That’swhyIdon’tadviseyou
to maltreat me. Irrespective of how you spell it, the consequences for you
wouldbelamentable. You are not,honorableAlderman,going to putmein
prison. Or call me ‘young lady.’ I haven’t infringed any law. For the time
being.”
“Ifyouinfringebyevenaninch”—Caldemeynlookedasifhewantedto
spit—“I’llthrowyouinthedungeontogetherwiththispieceofpaper.Iswear
onallthegods,younglady.Comeon,Geralt.”
“With you, witcher.” Renfri touched Geralt’s shoulder. “I’d still like a
word.”
“Don’t be late for supper,” the alderman threw over his shoulder, “or
Libushewillbefurious.”
“Iwon’t.”
Geraltleanedagainstthecounter.Fiddlingwiththewolf’sheadmedallion
hangingaroundhisneck,helookedintothegirl’sblue-greeneyes.
“I’veheardaboutyou,”shesaid.“You’reGeralt,thewhite-hairedwitcher
fromRivia.IsStregoboryourfriend?”
“No.”
“Thatmakesthingseasier.”
97
“Notmuch.Don’texpectmetolookonpeacefully.”
Renfri’seyesnarrowed.
“Stregobor dies tomorrow,” she said quietly, brushing the unevenly cut
hairoffherforehead.“Itwouldbethelesserevilifhediedalone.”
“Ifhedid,yes.Butinfact,beforeStregobordies,severalotherpeoplewill
dietoo.Idon’tseeanyotherpossibility.”
“Several,witcher,isputtingitmildly.”
“Youneedmorethanwordstofrightenme,Shrike.”
“Don’tcallmeShrike.Idon’tlikeit.Thepointis,Iseeotherpossibilities.
Itwouldbeworthtalkingitover…butLibusheiswaiting.Isshepretty,this
Libushe?”
“Isthatallyouhadtosaytome?”
“No.Butyoushouldgo.Libushe’swaiting.”
98
IV
There was someone in his little attic room. Geralt knew it before he even
reached the door, sensing it through the barely perceptible vibration of his
medallion.Heblewouttheoillampwhichhadlithispathupthestairs,pulled
thedaggerfromhisboot,slippeditintothebackofhisbeltandpressedthe
doorhandle.Theroomwasdark.Butnotforawitcher.
He was deliberately slow in crossing the threshold; he closed the door
behind him carefully. The nextsecond he dived at theperson sitting on his
bed, crushed them into the linen, forced his forearm under their chin and
reachedforhisdagger.Hedidn’tpullitout.Somethingwasn’tright.
“Notabadstart,”shesaidinamuffledvoice,lyingmotionlessbeneath
him.“Iexpectedsomethinglikethis,butIdidn’tthinkwe’dbothbeinbedso
quickly.Takeyourhandfrommythroatplease.”
“It’syou.”
“It’sme.Nowtherearetwopossibilities.Thefirst:yougetoffmeandwe
talk.Thesecond:westayinthisposition,inwhichcaseI’dliketotakemy
bootsoffatleast.”
Thewitcherreleasedthegirl,whosighed,satupandadjustedherhairand
skirt.
“Lightthecandle,”shesaid.“Ican’tseeinthedark,unlikeyou,andIlike
toseewhoI’mtalkingto.”
Sheapproachedthetable—tall,slim,agile—andsatdown,stretchingout
herlonglegsintheirhighboots.Shewasn’tcarryinganyvisibleweapons.
“Haveyougotanythingtodrinkhere?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a good thing I brought something,” she laughed, placing a
travelingwineskinandtwoleathertumblersonthetable.
“It’snearlymidnight,”saidGeraltcoldly.“Shallwecometothepoint?”
“Inaminute.Here,haveadrink.Here’stoyou,Geralt.”
“Likewise,Shrike.”
“Myname’sRenfri,dammit.”Sheraisedherhead.“Iwillpermityouto
omitmyroyaltitle,butstopcallingmeShrike!”
“Bequietoryou’llwakethewholehouse.AmIfinallygoingtolearnwhy
youcreptinherethroughthewindow?”
“You’re slow-witted, witcher. I want to save Blaviken from slaughter. I
crawledovertherooftopslikeashe-catinMarchinordertotalktoyouabout
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it.Appreciateit.”
“Ido,”saidGeralt.“ExceptthatIdon’tknowwhattalkcanachieve.The
situation’sclear.Stregoborisinhistower,andyou’dhavetolaysiegetoitin
ordertogettohim.Ifyoudothat,yourletterofsafeconductwon’thelpyou.
Audoenwon’tdefendyouifyouopenlybreakthelaw.Thealderman,guards,
thewholeofBlavikenwillstandagainstyou.”
“ThewholeofBlavikenwouldregretstandinguptome.”Renfrismiled,
revealing a predator’s white teeth. “Did you take a look at my boys? They
knowtheirtrade,Iassureyou.Canyouimaginewhatwouldhappeninafight
between them and those dimwit guards who keep tripping over their own
halberds?”
“DoyouimagineIwouldstandbyandwatchafightlikethat?I’mstaying
at the alderman’s, as you can see. If the need arises, I should stand at his
side.”
“I have no doubt”—Renfri grew serious—“that you will. But you’ll
probably be alone, as the rest will cower in the cellars. No warrior in the
world could match seven swordsmen. So, white-hair, let’s stop threatening
eachother.AsIsaid:slaughterandbloodshedcanbeavoided.Therearetwo
peoplewhocanpreventit.”
“I’mallears.”
“One,”saidRenfri,“isStregoborhimself.Heleaveshistowervoluntarily,
Itakehimtoadesertedspot,andBlavikensinksbackintoblissfulapathyand
forgetsthewholeaffair.”
“Stregobormayseemcrazy,buthe’snotthatcrazy.”
“Whoknows,witcher,whoknows.Someargumentscan’tbedenied,like
theTridamultimatum.Iplantopresentittothesorcerer.”
“Whatisit,thisultimatum?”
“That’smysweetsecret.”
“Asyouwish.ButIdoubtit’llbeeffective.Stregobor’steethchatterwhen
he speaks of you. An ultimatum which would persuade him to voluntarily
surrenderhimselfintoyourbeautifulhandswouldhavetobeprettygood.So
who’stheotherperson?Letmeguess.”
“Iwonderhowsharpyouare,white-hair.”
“It’syou,Renfri.You’llrevealatrulyprincely—whatamIsaying,royal
magnanimityandrenounceyourrevenge.HaveIguessed?”
Renfri threw back her head and laughed, covering her mouth with her
hand.Thenshegrewsilentandfixedhershiningeyesonthewitcher.
“Geralt,”shesaid,“Iusedtobeaprincess.IhadeverythingIcoulddream
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of.Servantsatmybeckandcall,dresses,shoes.Cambricknickers.Jewelsand
trinkets,ponies,goldfishinapond.Dolls,andadoll’shousebiggerthanthis
room. That was my life until Stregobor and that whore Aridea ordered a
huntsman to butcher me in the forest and bring back my heart and liver.
Lovely,don’tyouthink?”
“No.I’mpleasedyouevadedthehuntsman,Renfri.”
“LikeshitIdid.Hetookpityonmeandletmego.Afterthesonofabitch
rapedmeandrobbedme.”
Geralt, fiddling with his medallion, looked her straight in the eyes. She
didn’tlowerhers.
“Thatwastheendoftheprincess,”shecontinued.“Thedressgrewtorn,
thecambricgrewgrubby.Andthentherewasdirt,hunger,stench,stinkand
abuse.Selling myselftoanyoldbum forabowlofsoup oraroof overmy
head.Doyouknowwhatmyhairwaslike?Silk.Anditreachedagoodfoot
belowmyhips.Ihaditcutrighttothescalpwithsheep-shearswhenIcaught
lice.It’snevergrownbackproperly.”
She was silent for a moment, idly brushing the uneven strands of hair
fromherforehead.
“Istoleratherthanstarvetodeath.Ikilledtoavoidbeingkilledmyself.I
waslockedinprisonswhichstankofurine,neverknowingiftheywouldhang
me in the morning, or just flog me and release me. And through it all, my
stepmotherandyoursorcererwerehardonmyheels,withtheirpoisonsand
assassinsandspells.Andyouwantmetorevealmymagnanimity?Toforgive
himroyally?I’lltearhisheadoff,royally,first.”
“ArideaandStregobortriedtopoisonyou?”
“Withanappleseasonedwithnightshade.Iwassavedbyagnome,andan
emeticIthoughtwouldturnmyinsidesout.ButIsurvived.”
“Wasthatoneofthesevengnomes?”Renfri,pouringwine,frozeholding
thewineskinoverthetumbler.
“Ah,” she said. “You do know a lot about me. Yes? Do you have
somethingagainstgnomes?Orhumanoids?Theywerebettertomethanmost
people,notthatit’syourbusiness.
“StregoborandArideahuntedmelikeawildanimalaslongastheycould.
UntilIbecamethehunter.Arideadiedinherownbed.ShewasluckyIdidn’t
gettoherearlier—Ihadaspecialplanforher,andnowI’vegotoneforthe
sorcerer.Doyouthinkhedeservestodie?”
“I’mnojudge.I’mawitcher.”
“Youare.Isaidthatthereweretwopeoplewhocouldpreventbloodshed
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inBlaviken.Thesecondisyou.Thesorcererwillletyouintothetower.You
couldkillhim.”
“Renfri,”saidGeraltcalmly,“didyoufallfromtheroofontoyourheadon
thewaytomyroom?”
“Areyouawitcheroraren’tyou,dammit?Theysayyoukilledakikimora
andbroughtithereonadonkeytogetapriceforit.Stregoborisworsethan
the kikimora. It’s just a mindless beast which kills because that’s how the
gods made it. Stregobor is a brute, a true monster. Bring him to me on a
donkeyandIwon’tbegrudgeyouanysumyoucaretomention.”
“I’mnotahiredthug,Shrike.”
“You’renot,”sheagreedwithasmile.Sheleanedbackonthestooland
crossedher legs on the table without the slightest effort to cover herthighs
withherskirt.“You’reawitcher,adefenderofpeoplefromevil.Andevilis
the steel and fire which will cause devastation here if we fight each other.
Don’tyouthinkI’mproposingalesserevil,abettersolution?Evenforthat
sonofabitchStregobor.Youcankillhimmercifully,withonethrust.He’ll
diewithoutknowingit.AndIguaranteehimquitethereverse.”
Geraltremainedsilent.
Renfristretched,raisingherarms.
“Iunderstandyourhesitation,”shesaid.“ButIneedananswernow.”
“DoyouknowwhyStregoborandtheking’swifewantedtokillyou?”
Renfristraightenedabruptlyandtookherlegsoffthetable.
“It’s obvious,” she snarled. “I am heir to the throne. Aridea’s children
werebornoutofwedlockanddon’thaveanyrightto—”
“No.”
Renfriloweredherhead,butonlyforamoment.Hereyesflashed.“Fine.
I’m supposed to be cursed. Contaminated in my mother’s womb. I’m
supposedtobe…”
“Yes?”
“Amonster.”
“Andareyou?”
Forafleetingmomentshelookedhelpless,shattered.Andverysad.
“I don’t know, Geralt,” she whispered, and then her features hardened
again.“BecausehowamItoknow,dammit?WhenIcutmyfinger,Ibleed.I
bleedeverymonth,too.IgetbellyachewhenIovereat,andahangoverwhen
Igetdrunk.WhenI’mhappyIsingandIswearwhenI’msad.WhenIhate
someoneIkillthemandwhen—Butenoughofthis!Youranswer,witcher.”
“Myanswerisno.”
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“YourememberwhatIsaid?”sheaskedafteramoment’ssilence.“There
areoffersyoucan’trefuse,theconsequencesaresoterrible,andthisisoneof
them.Thinkitover.”
“Ihavethoughtcarefully.Andmysuggestionwasasserious.”
Renfri was silent for some time, fiddling with a string of pearls wound
three times around her shapely neck before falling teasingly between her
breasts,theircurvesjustvisiblethroughtheslitofherjacket.
“Geralt,”shesaid,“didStregoboraskyoutokillme?”
“Yes.Hebelieveditwasthelesserevil.”
“CanIbelieveyourefusedhim,asyouhaveme?”
“Youcan.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIdon’tbelieveinalesserevil.”
Renfrismiledfaintly,anuglygrimaceintheyellowcandlelight.
“Youdon’tbelieveinit,yousay.Wellyou’reright,inaway.OnlyEvil
andGreaterEvilexistandbeyondthem,intheshadows,lurksTrueEvil.True
Evil,Geralt,issomethingyoucanbarelyimagine,evenifyoubelievenothing
canstillsurpriseyou.AndsometimesTrueEvilseizesyoubythethroatand
demandsthatyouchoosebetweenitandanother,slightlylesser,Evil.”
“What’syourgoalhere,Renfri?”
“Nothing.I’vehadabittodrinkandI’mphilosophising.I’mlookingfor
general truths. And I’ve found one: lesser evils exist, but we can’t choose
them. Only True Evil can force us to such a choice. Whether we like it or
not.”
“MaybeI’venothadenoughtodrink.”Thewitchersmiledsourly.“And
in the meantime midnight’s passed, the way it does. Let’s speak plainly.
You’renotgoingto killStregoborinBlaviken becauseI’mnotgoing to let
you.I’mnotgoingtoletitcometoaslaughterhere.So,forthesecondtime,
renounceyourrevenge.Provetohim,toeveryone,thatyou’renotaninhuman
and bloodthirsty monster. Prove he has done you great harm through his
mistake.”
For a moment Renfri watched the witcher’s medallion spinning as he
twistedthechain.
“And if I tell you, witcher, that I can neither forgive Stregobor nor
renouncemyrevengethenIadmitthatheisright,is thatit?I’dbeproving
thatIamamonstercursedbythegods?Youknow,whenIwasstillnewto
thislife,afreemantookmein.Hetookafancytome,eventhoughIfound
himrepellent.Soeverytimehewantedtofuckme,hehadtobeatmesohard
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Icouldbarelymove,eventhefollowingday.OnemorningIrosewhileitwas
stilldarkandslashedhisthroatwithascythe.Iwasn’tyetasskilledasIam
now,andaknifeseemedtoosmall.AndasIlistenedtohimgurgleandchoke,
watched him kicking and flailing, I felt the marks left by his feet and fists
fade, and I felt, oh, so great, so great that…I left him, whistling, sprightly,
feelingsojoyful,sohappy.Andit’sthesameeachtime.Ifitwasn’t,who’d
wastetimeonrevenge?”
“Renfri,”saidGeralt.“Whateveryourmotives,you’renotgoingtoleave
herejoyfulandhappy.Butyou’llleaveherealive,earlytomorrowmorning,
asthealdermanordered.You’renotgoingtokillStregoborinBlaviken.”
Renfri’seyesglistenedinthecandlelight,reflectingtheflame;thepearls
glowed in the slit of her jacket; the wolf medallion spinning round on its
chainsparkled.
“Ipityyou,”shesaidslowly,gazingatthemedallion.“Youclaimalesser
evildoesn’texist. You’re standing onaflagstonerunningwith blood, alone
and so very lonely because you can’t choose, but you had to. And you’ll
neverknow,you’llneverbesure,ifyouwereright…Andyourrewardwillbe
astoning,andabadword.Ipityyou…”
“Andyou?”askedthewitcherquietly,almostinawhisper.
“Ican’tchoose,either.”
“Whatareyou?”
“IamwhatIam.”
“Whereareyou?”
“I’m…cold…”
“Renfri!”Geraltsqueezedthemedalliontightlyinhishand.
Shetossedherheadasifwakingup,andblinkedseveraltimes,surprised.
Foraverybriefmomentshelookedfrightened.
“You’ve won,”she said sharply. “You win, witcher. Tomorrow morning
I’llleaveBlavikenandneverreturntothisrottentown.Never.Nowpassme
thewineskin.”
Herusualderisivesmilereturnedassheputheremptytumbler back on
thetable.“Geralt?”
“I’mhere.”
“Thatbloodyroofissteep.I’dprefertoleaveatdawnthanfallandhurt
myself in thedark. I’m aprincess and my body’s delicate. I can feel a pea
underamattress—aslongasit’snotwell-stuffedwithstraw,obviously.How
aboutit?”
“Renfri”—Geralt smiled despite himself—“is that really befitting of a
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princess?”
“Whatdoyouknowaboutprincesses,dammit?I’velivedasoneandthe
joyofitisbeingabletodowhatyoulike.DoIhavetotellyoustraightout
whatIwant?”
Geralt,stillsmiling,didn’treply.
“Ican’tbelieveyoudon’tfindmeattractive.”Renfrigrimaced.“Areyou
afraid you’ll meet the freeman’s sticky fate? Eh, white-hair, I haven’t got
anythingsharponme.Havealookforyourself.”
Sheputherlegsonhisknees.“Pullmybootsoff.Ahighbootisthebest
placetohideaknife.”
Barefoot, she got up, tore at the buckle of her belt. “I’m not hiding
anythinghere,either.Orhere,asyoucansee.Putthatbloodycandleout.”
Outside,inthedarkness,acatyawled.
“Renfri?”
“What?”
“Isthiscambric?”
“Ofcourseitis,dammit.AmIaprincessornot?”
105
V
“Daddy,”Marilkanaggedmonotonously,“whenarewegoingtothemarket?
Tothemarket,Daddy!”
“Quiet, Marilka,” grunted Caldemeyn, wiping his plate with his bread.
“Sowhatwereyousaying,Geralt?They’releaving?”
“Yes.”
“Inever thought it would end so peacefully. Theyhad me bythe throat
withthatletterfromAudoen.Iputonabravefacebut,totellyouthetruth,I
couldn’tdoathingtothem.”
“Eveniftheyopenlybrokethelaw?Startedafight?”
“Evenif theydid.Audoen’sa verytouchyking. Hesendspeople tothe
scaffold on a whim. I’ve got a wife, a daughter, and I’m happy with my
office.Idon’thavetoworrywherethebaconwillcomefromtomorrow.It’s
goodnewsthatthey’releaving.Buthow,andwhy,didithappen?”
“Daddy,Iwanttogotothemarket!”
“Libushe! Take Marilka away! Geralt, I asked Centurion, the Golden
Court’s innkeeper, about that Novigradian company. They’re quite a gang.
Someofthemwererecognized.”
“Yes?”
“TheonewiththegashacrosshisfaceisNohorn,Abergard’soldadjutant
fromtheso-calledFreeAngrenCompany—you’llhave heardof them.That
hulk they callFifteen was one of theirstoo and Idon’tthink his nickname
comes from fifteen good deeds. The half-elf is Civril, a brigand and
professionalmurderer.Apparently,hehadsomethingtodowiththemassacre
atTridam.”
“Where?”
“Tridam.Didn’tyouhearofit?Everyonewastalkingaboutitthree…Yes,
three years ago. The Baron of Tridam was holding some brigands in the
dungeons.Theircomrades—oneofwhomwasthathalf-bloodCivril—seized
a river ferry full of pilgrims during the Feast of Nis. They demanded the
baron set those others free. The baron refused, so they began murdering
pilgrims, one after another. By the time the baron released his prisoners
they’d thrown a dozen pilgrims overboard to drift with the current—and
followingthedeathsthebaronwasindangerofexile,orevenofexecution.
Some blamed him for waiting so long to give in, and others claimed he’d
committed a great evil in releasing the men, in setting a pre—precedent or
106
something.Thegangshouldhavebeenshotfromthebanks,togetherwiththe
hostages, or attacked on the boats; he shouldn’t have given an inch. At the
tribunalthe baronarguedhe’dhadnochoice,he’dchosen thelesserevil to
savemorethantwenty-fivepeople—womenandchildren—ontheferry.”
“TheTridamultimatum,”whisperedthewitcher.“Renfri—”
“What?”
“Caldemeyn,themarketplace.”
“What?”
“She’s deceived us. They’re not leaving. They’ll force Stregobor out of
histowerastheyforcedtheBaronofTridam’shand.Orthey’llforcemeto…
They’regoingtostartmurderingpeopleatthemarket;it’sarealtrap!”
“Byallthegods—Whereareyougoing?Sitdown!”
Marilka,terrifiedbytheshouting,huddled,keening,inthecornerofthe
kitchen.
“I told you!” Libushe shouted, pointing to the witcher. “I said he only
bringstrouble!”
“Silence,woman!Geralt?Sitdown!”
“Wehavetostopthem.Rightnow,beforepeoplegotothemarket.And
calltheguards.Asthegangleavestheinn,seizethemandholdthem.”
“Bereasonable.Wecan’t.Wecan’ttouchahairoftheirheadsifthey’ve
done nothing wrong. They’ll defend themselves and there’ll be bloodshed.
They’reprofessionals;they’llslaughtermypeople,andit’llbemyheadforit
ifwordgetstoAudoen.I’llgathertheguards,gotothemarketandkeepan
eyeonthemthere—”
“Thatwon’tachieveanything, Caldemeyn. If the crowd’salreadyinthe
square,youcan’tpreventpanicandslaughter.Renfrihastobestoppedright
now,whilethemarketplaceisempty.”
“It’sillegal.Ican’tpermitit.It’sonlyarumorthehalf-elfwasatTridam.
Youcouldbewrong,andAudoenwouldflaymealive.”
“Wehavetotakethelesserevil!”
“Geralt,Iforbidit!AsAlderman,Iforbidit!Leaveyoursword!Stop!”
Marilkawasscreaming,herhandspressedoverhermouth.
107
VI
Shadinghiseyeswithhishand,Civrilwatchedthesunemergefrombehind
thetrees.Themarketplacewascomingtolife.Wagonsandcartsrumbledpast
andthefirstvendorswerealreadyfillingtheirstalls.Ahammerwasbanging,
acockcrowingandseagullsscreechedloudlyoverhead.
“Lookslikealovelyday,”Fifteensaidpensively.
Civrillookedathimaskancebutdidn’tsayanything.
“Thehorsesallright,Tavik?”askedNohorn,pullingonhisgloves.
“Saddled and ready. But, there’s still not many of them in the
marketplace.”
“There’llbemore.”
“Weshouldeat.”
“Later.”
“Deadright.You’llhavetimelater.Andanappetite.”
“Look,”saidFifteensuddenly.
The witcher was approaching from the main street, walking between
stalls,comingstraighttowardthem.
“Renfri was right,” Civril said. “Give me the crossbow, Nohorn.” He
hunched over and, holding the strap down with his foot, pulled the string
back.Heplacedtheboltcarefullyinthegrooveasthewitchercontinuedto
approach.Civrilraisedthecrossbow.
“Notonestepcloser,witcher!”
Geraltstoppedaboutfortypacesfromthegroup.
“Where’sRenfri?”
The half-blood’s pretty face contorted. “At the tower. She’s making the
sorcereranofferhe can’trefuse.Butsheknew you wouldcome.Sheleft a
messageforyou.”
“Speak.”
“I am what I am. Choose. Either me, or a lesser.’ You’re supposed to
knowwhatitmeans.”
The witcher nodded, raised hishand abovehisright shoulder, and drew
hissword.Thebladetracedaglisteningarcabovehishead.Walkingslowly,
hemadehiswaytowardthegroup.
Civrillaughednastily,ominously.
“Renfrisaidthiswouldhappen,witcher,andleftussomethingspecialto
giveyou.Rightbetweentheeyes.”
108
The witcher kept walking, and the half-elf raised the crossbow to his
cheek.Itgrewveryquiet.
The bowstring hummed, the witcher’s sword flashed and the bolt flew
upwardwithametallicwhine,spinningintheairuntilitclatteredagainstthe
roofandrumbledintothegutter.
“Hedeflectedit…”groanedFifteen.“Deflecteditinflight—”
“Asone,”orderedCivril.Bladeshissedastheyweredrawnfromsheaths,
thegrouppressedshouldertoshoulder,bristlingwithblades.
Thewitchercameonfaster;hisfluidwalkbecamearun—notstraightat
thegroupquiveringwithswords,butcirclingitinatighteningspiral.
AsGeraltcircledthegroup,Tavik’snervefailed.Herushedthewitcher,
thetwinsfollowinghim.
“Don’tdisperse!”Civrilroared,shakinghisheadandlosing sightofthe
witcher. He swore and jumped aside, seeing the group fall apart, scattering
aroundthemarketstalls.
Tavikwentfirst.HewaschasingthewitcherwhenhesawGeraltrunning
in the opposite direction, toward him. He skidded, trying to stop, but the
witchershotpastbeforehecouldraisehissword.Tavikfeltahardblowjust
abovehiship,felltohiskneesand,whenhesawhiship,startedscreaming.
The twins simultaneously attacked the black, blurred shape rushing
toward them, mistimed their attack and collided with each other as Geralt
slashed Vyr across the chest and Nimir in the temple, leaving one twin to
stagger,headdown,intoavegetablestall,andtheothertospininplaceand
falllimplyintothegutter.
Themarketplaceboiledwithvendorsrunningaway,stallsclatteringtothe
ground and screams rising in the dusty air. Tavik tried to stumble to his
tremblinglegsandfellpainfullytotheground.
“From the left, Fifteen!” Nohorn roared, running in a semi-circle to
approachthewitcherfrombehind.
Fifteen spun. But not quickly enough. He bore a thrust through the
stomach,preparedtostrikeandwasstruckagainintheneck,justbelowhis
ear.Hetookfourunsteadystepsandcollapsedintoafishcart,whichrolled
away beneath him. Sliding over the slippery cargo, Fifteen fell onto the
flagstones,silverwithscales.
Civril and Nohorn struck simultaneouslyfrom bothsides, theelfwith a
high sweeping cut, Nohorn from a kneeling position, low and flat. The
witchercaughtboth,twometallicclangsmergingintoone.Civrilleaptaside
andtripped,catchinghimselfagainstastallasNohornwardedoffablowso
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powerful it threw him backward to his knees. Leaping up, he parried too
slowly,takingagashinthefaceparalleltohisoldscar.
Civrilbouncedoffthe stall, jumpingoverNohornas he fell,missedthe
witcherandjumpedaway.Thethrustwassosharp,soprecise,hedidn’tfeel
it;hislegsonlygavewaywhenhetriedtoattackagain.Theswordfellfrom
his hand, the tendons severed above the elbow. Civril fell to his knees and
shookhishead,tryingandfailingtorise.Hisheaddropped,andamongthe
shattered stalls and market wares, thescatteredfish and cabbages, his body
stilledinthecenterofagrowingredpuddle.
Renfrienteredthemarketplace.
She approached slowly with a soft, feline step, avoiding the carts and
stalls.Thecrowdinthestreetsandbythehouses,whichhadbeenhumming
like a hornet’s nest, grew silent. Geralt stood motionless, his sword in his
loweredhand.Renfricametowithintenpacesandstopped,closeenoughto
seethat,underherjacket,sheworeashortcoatofchainmail,barelycovering
herhips.
“You’vemadeyourchoice,”shesaidslowly.“Areyousureit’stheright
one?”
“Thiswon’tbeanotherTridam,”Geraltsaidwithaneffort.
“It wouldn’t have been. Stregobor laughed in my face. He said I could
butcher Blaviken and the neighboring villages and he wouldn’t leave his
tower.Andhewon’tletanyonein,notevenyou.Whyareyoulookingatme
likethat?Yes, I deceived you. I’ll deceive anyone if I have to; whyshould
youbespecial?”
“Getoutofhere,Renfri.”
Shelaughed.“No,Geralt.”Shedrewhersword,quicklyandnimbly.
“Renfri.”
“No.Youmadeachoice.Nowit’s my turn.”With onesharpmove,she
tore the skirt from her hips and spun it in the air, wrapping the material
aroundherforearm.Geraltretreatedandraisedhishand,arranginghisfingers
intheSign.
Renfrilaughedhoarsely.“Itdoesn’taffectme.Onlytheswordwill.”
“Renfri,”herepeated.“Go.Ifwecrossblades,I—Iwon’tbeable—”
“Iknow,” she said. “But I,Ican’tdoanythingelse. I just can’t.We are
whatweare,youandI.”
Shemovedtowardhimwithalight,swayingstep,herswordglintingin
herrighthand,herskirtdraggingalongthegroundfromherleft.
Sheleapt,theskirtflutteredintheairand,veiledinitstracks,thesword
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flashed in a short, sparing cut. Geralt jumped away; the cloth didn’t even
brush him, and Renfri’s blade slid over his diagonal parry. He attacked
instinctively,spinningtheirblades,tryingtoknockherweaponaside.Itwasa
mistake.Shedeflectedhisbladeandslashed,aimingforhisface.Hebarely
parried and pirouetted away, dodging her dancing blade and jumping aside
again.Shefellon him, threw the skirt intohiseyesandslashedflatlyfrom
shortrange,spinning.Spinningwithher,heavoidedtheblow.Sheknewthe
trickandturnedwithhim,theirbodiessoclosehecouldfeelthetouchofher
breathassherantheedgeacrosshischest.Hefeltatwingeofpain,ignoredit.
Heturnedagain,intheoppositedirection,deflectedthebladeflyingtoward
histemple,madeaswiftfeintandattacked.Renfrisprangawayasiftostrike
fromaboveasGeraltlungedandswiftlyslashedherexposedthighandgroin
frombelowwiththeverytipofhissword.
Shedidn’tcryout.Fallingtoherside,shedroppedherswordandclutched
her thigh. Blood poured through her fingers in a bright stream over her
decoratedbelt,elk-leatherboots,andontothedirtyflagstones.Theclamorof
theswayingcrowd,crammedinthestreets,grewastheysawblood.
Geraltputuphissword.
“Don’tgo…”shemoaned,curlingupinaball.
Hedidn’treply.
“I’m…cold…”
He said nothing. Renfri moaned again, curling up tighter as her blood
flowedintothecracksbetweenthestones.
“Geralt…Holdme…”
Thewitcherremainedsilent.
Sheturnedherhead,restinghercheekontheflagstonesandwasstill.A
fine dagger, hidden beneath her body until now, slipped from her numb
fingers.
After a long moment, the witcher raised his head, hearing Stregobor’s
staff tapping against the flagstones. The wizard was approaching quickly,
avoidingthecorpses.
“Whatslaughter,”he panted. “Isawit, Geralt. Isawitall inmycrystal
ball…”
He came closer, bent over. In his trailing black robe, supported by his
staff,helookedold.
“It’sincredible.”Heshookhishead.“Shrike’sdead.”
Geraltdidn’treply.
“Well,Geralt.”Thewizardstraightened himself.“Fetcha cartandwe’ll
111
takehertothetowerforanautopsy.”
He looked at the witcher and, not getting any answer, leaned over the
body.
Someonethewitcherdidn’tknowfoundthehiltofhisswordanddrewit.
“Touch asingle hair ofher head,” saidthe person thewitcher didn’tknow,
“touchherheadandyourswillgoflyingtotheflagstones.”
“Haveyougonemad?You’rewounded,inshock!Anautopsy’stheonly
waywecanconfirm—”
“Don’ttouchher!”
Stregobor,seeingtheraisedblade,jumpedasideandwavedhisstaff.“All
right!” he shouted. “As you wish! But you’ll never know! You’ll never be
sure!Never,doyouhear,witcher?”
“Begone.”
“Asyouwish.”Thewizard turned away, his staffhitting the flagstones.
“I’mreturningtoKovir.I’mnotstayinginthisholeanotherday.Comewith
meratherthanrothere.Thesepeopledon’tknowanything,they’veonlyseen
youkilling.Andyoukillnastily,Geralt.Well,areyoucoming?”
Geralt didn’t reply; he wasn’t looking at him. He put his sword away.
Stregoborshruggedandwalkedaway, his stafftappingrhythmically against
theground.
Astonecameflyingfromthecrowdandclatteredagainsttheflagstones.A
second followed, whizzing past just above Geralt’s shoulder. The witcher,
holding himself straight, raised both hands and made a swift gesture with
them.Thecrowd heaved; thestonescameflying more thicklybuttheSign,
protectinghimbehindaninvisibleovalshield,pushedthemaside.
“Enough!”yelledCaldemeyn.“Bloodyhell,enoughofthat!”
Thecrowdroaredlikeasurgeofbreakersbutthestonesstoppedflying.
Thewitcherstood,motionless.
Thealdermanapproachedhim.
“Is this,” he said, with a broad gesture indicating the motionless bodies
strewn across the square, “how your lesser evil looks? Is this what you
believednecessary?”
“Yes,”repliedGeraltslowly,withaneffort.
“Isyourwoundserious?”
“No.”
“Inthatcase,getoutofhere.”
“Yes,” said the witcher. He stood a moment longer, avoiding the
alderman’seyes.Thenheturnedawayslowly,veryslowly.
112
“Geralt.”
Thewitcherlookedround.
“Don’tcomeback,”saidCaldemeyn.“Nevercomeback.”
113
THEVOICEOFREASON
114
I
“Let’stalk,Iola.
“I need this conversation. They say silence is golden. Maybe it is,
althoughI’mnotsureit’sworththatmuch.Ithasitspricecertainly;youhave
topayforit.
“It’seasierforyou.Yesitis,don’tdenyit.You’resilentthroughchoice;
you’vemadeitasacrificetoyourgoddess.Idon’tbelieveinMelitele,don’t
believeintheexistenceofothergodseither,butIrespectyourchoice,your
sacrifice. Your belief. Because your faith and sacrifice, the price you’re
payingforyoursilence,willmakeyouabetter,agreaterbeing.Or,atleast,it
could.Butmyfaithlessnesscandonothing.It’spowerless.
“YouaskwhatIbelievein,inthatcase.
“Ibelieveinthesword.
“Asyoucansee,Icarrytwo.Everywitcherdoes.It’ssaid,spitefully,the
silveroneisformonstersandtheironforhumans.Butthat’swrong.Asthere
aremonsterswhichcanbestruckdownonlywithasilverblade,sothereare
thoseforwhomironislethal.And,Iola,notjustanyiron,itmustcomefrom
ameteorite.Whatisameteorite,youask?It’safallingstar.Youmusthave
seen them—short, luminous streaks in the night. You’ve probably made a
wishonone.Perhapsitwasonemorereasonforyoutobelieveinthegods.
Forme,ameteoriteisnothingmorethanabitofmetal,primedbythesunand
itsfall,metaltomakeswords.
“Yes, of course you can take my sword. Feel how light it—No! Don’t
touchtheedge;you’llcutyourself.It’ssharperthanarazor.Ithastobe.
“Itrainineverysparemoment.Idon’tdarelosemyskill.I’vecomehere
—thisfurthestcornerofthetemplegarden—tolimberup,toridmymuscles
ofthathideous,loathsomenumbnesswhichhascomeoverme,thiscoldness
flowing through me. And you found me here. Funny, for a few days I was
tryingtofindyou.Iwanted—
“Ineedtotalk,Iola.Let’ssitdownforamoment.
“Youdon’tknowmeatall,doyou?
“I’mcalledGeralt.Geraltof—No.OnlyGeralt.Geraltofnowhere.I’ma
witcher.
“MyhomeisKaerMorhen,Witcher’sSettlement.It’s…Itwasafortress.
Notmuchremainsofit.
“Kaer Morhen… That’s where the likes of me were produced. It’s not
115
doneanymore;noonelivesinKaerMorhennow.NoonebutVesemir.Who’s
Vesemir?Myfather.Whyareyousosurprised?What’ssostrangeabout it?
Everyone’sgotafather,andmineisVesemir.Andsowhatifhe’snotmyreal
father? I didn’t know him, ormy mother. I don’t even know ifthey’re still
alive,andIdon’tmuchcare.
“Yes, Kaer Morhen. I underwent the usual mutation there, through the
TrialofGrasses,andthenhormones,herbs,viralinfections.Andthenthrough
themall again. And again, to the bitter end. Apparently, I took the changes
unusuallywell;Iwasonlyillbriefly.Iwasconsideredtobeanexceptionally
resilientbrat…andwaschosenformorecomplicatedexperimentsasaresult.
Theywereworse.Muchworse.But,asyousee,Isurvived.Theonlyoneto
liveoutofallthosechosenforfurthertrials.Myhair’sbeenwhiteeversince.
Totallossofpigmentation.Asideeffect,astheysay.Atrifle.
“Then they taught me various things until the day when I left Kaer
Morhenandtooktotheroad.I’dearnedmymedallion,theSignoftheWolf’s
School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm,
incentiveand…faith.FaiththatIwasneededinaworldfullofmonstersand
beasts,toprotecttheinnocent.AsIleftKaerMorhen,Idreamedofmeeting
my first monster. I couldn’t wait to stand eye to eye with him. And the
momentarrived.
“My first monster, Iola, was bald and had exceptionally rotten teeth. I
came across him on the highway where, with some fellow monsters,
deserters, he’d stopped a peasant’s cart and pulled out a little girl, maybe
thirteenyearsold.Hiscompanionsheldherfatherwhilethebaldmantoreoff
herdress,yellingitwastimeforhertomeetarealman.Irodeupandsaidthe
time had come for him, too—I thought I was very witty. The bald monster
releasedthegirlandthrewhimselfatmewithanaxe.Hewasslowbuttough.
Ihithimtwice—notcleancuts,butspectacular,andonlythendidhefall.His
gangranawaywhentheysawwhatawitcher’sswordcoulddotoaman….
“AmIboringyou,Iola?
“Ineedthis.Ireallydoneedit.
“Where was I? My first noble deed. You see, they’d told me again and
again in Kaer Morhen not to get involved in such incidents, not to play at
beingknighterrantorupholdthelaw.Nottoshowoff,buttoworkformoney.
AndIjoinedthisfightlikeanidiot,notfiftymilesfromthemountains.And
doyouknowwhy?Iwantedthegirl,sobbingwithgratitude,tokisshersavior
onthehands,andherfathertothankmeonhisknees.Inrealityherfatherfled
withhisattackers,andthegirl,drenchedinthebaldman’sblood,threwup,
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becamehystericalandfaintedinfearwhenIapproachedher.Sincethen,I’ve
onlyveryrarelyinterferedinsuchmatters.
“Ididmyjob.Iquicklylearnedhow.I’drideuptovillageenclosuresor
townpicketsandwait.Iftheyspat,cursedandthrewstones,Irodeaway.If
someonecameouttogivemeacommission,I’dcarryitout.
“Ivisitedtownsandfortresses.Ilookedforproclamationsnailedtoposts
atthecrossroads.Ilookedforthewords‘Witcherurgentlyneeded.’Andthen
there’dbeasacredsite,adungeon,necropolisorruins,forestravineorgrotto
hiddeninthemountains,fullofbonesandstinkingcarcasses.Somecreature
whichlivedtokill,outofhunger,forpleasure,orinvokedbysomesickwill.
A manticore, wyvern, fogler, aeschna, ilyocoris, chimera, leshy, vampire,
ghoul, graveir, werewolf, giant scorpion, striga, black annis, kikimora,
vypper…somanyI’vekilled.There’dbeadanceinthedarkandaslashof
thesword,andfearanddistasteintheeyesofmyemployerafterward.
“Mistakes?Of courseI’vemade them.ButIkeeptomyprinciples.No,
notthecode.AlthoughIhaveattimeshiddenbehindacode.Peoplelikethat.
Thosewhofollowacodeareoftenrespectedandheldinhighesteem.Butno
one’s ever compiled a witcher’s code. I invented mine. Just like that. And
keeptoit.Always—
“Notalways.
“There have beensituations where it seemedthere wasn’tany room for
doubt.WhenIshouldsaytomyself,‘WhatdoIcare?It’snothingtodowith
me.I’mawitcher.’WhenIshouldlistentothevoiceofreason.Tolistento
myinstinct,evenifit’sfear,ifnottowhatmyexperiencedictates.
“Ishouldhavelistenedtothevoiceofreasonthattime…
“Ididn’t.
“I thought I waschoosingthe lesser evil. I chosethe lesser evil. Lesser
evil!I’mGeralt!Witcher…I’mtheButcherofBlaviken—
“Don’ttouchme!Itmight…Youmightsee…andIdon’twantyouto.I
don’twanttoknow.Iknowmyfatewhirlsaboutmelikewaterinaweir.It’s
hardonmyheels,followingmytracks,butIneverlookback.
“Aloop?Yes,that’swhatNennekesensed.Whattemptedme,Iwonder,in
Cintra?HowcouldIhavetakensucharisksofoolishly—?
“No,no,no.Ineverlookback.I’llneverreturntoCintra.I’llavoiditlike
theplague.I’llnevergobackthere.
“Heh,ifmycalculationsarecorrect,thatchildwouldhavebeenbornin
May,sometimearoundthefeastofBelleteyn.Ifthat’strue,it’saninteresting
coincidence.BecauseYenneferwasalsobornonBelleteyn’s…
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“Enoughofthis,weshouldgo.It’salreadydusk.
“Thankyoufortalkingtome.Thankyou,Iola.
“No,nothing’swrong.I’mfine.
“Quitefine.”
118
AQUESTIONOFPRICE
119
I
Thewitcherhadaknifeathisthroat.
Hewaswallowinginawoodentub,brimfulofsoapsuds,hisheadthrown
backagainstitsslipperyrim.Thebittertasteofsoaplingeredinhismouthas
theknife,bluntasadoorknob,scrapedhisAdam’sapplepainfullyandmoved
towardhischinwithagratingsound.
The barber, with the expression of an artist who is conscious that he is
creating a masterpiece, scraped once more for form’s sake, then wiped the
witcher’sfacewithapieceoflinensoakedintinctureofangelica.
Geralt stood up, allowed a servant to pour a bucket of water over him,
shookhimselfandclimbedfromthetub,leavingwetfootmarksonthebrick
floor.
“Yourtowel,sir.”Theservantglancedcuriouslyathismedallion.
“Thanks.”
“Clothes,”saidHaxo.“Shirt,underpants,trousersandtunic.Andboots.”
“You’vethoughtofeverything.Butcan’tIgoinmyownshoes?”
“No.Beer?”
“Withpleasure.”
Hedressedslowly.Thetouchofsomeoneelse’scoarse,unpleasantclothes
againsthisswollenskinspoiledhisrelaxedmood.
“Castellan?”
“Yes,Geralt?”
“Youdon’tknowwhatthisisallabout,doyou?Whytheyneedmehere?”
“It’snotmybusiness,”saidHaxo,squintingattheservants.“Myjobisto
getyoudressed—”
“Dressedup,youmean.”
“—get you dressed and take you to the banquet, to the queen. Put the
tunicon,sir.Andhidethemedallionbeneathit.”
“Mydaggerwashere.”
“It isn’t anymore. It’s in a safe place, like your swords and your
possessions.Nobodycarriesarmswhereyou’regoing.”
Thewitchershrugged,pullingonthetightpurpletunic.
“Andwhat’sthis?”heasked,indicatingtheembroideryonthefrontofhis
outfit.
“Ohyes,”saidHaxo.“Ialmostforgot.Duringthebanquet,youwillbethe
HonorableRavixofFourhorn.Asguestofhonor,youwillsitatthequeen’s
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righthand,suchis her wish, andthat,onthetunic, is your coatofarms.A
bearpassantsable, damsel vestedazureridinghim, her hairlooseandarms
raised.Youshouldrememberit—oneoftheguestsmighthaveathingabout
heraldry.Itoftenhappens.”
“Of course I’ll remember it,” said Geralt seriously. “And Fourhorn,
where’sthat?”
“Farenough.Ready?Canwego?”
“Wecan.Justtellme,Haxo,what’sthisbanquetinaidof?”
“PrincessPavetta isturningfifteenand,asisthecustom,contendersfor
herhandhaveturnedupintheirdozens.QueenCalanthewantshertomarry
someone from Skellige; an alliance with the islanders would mean a lot to
us.”
“Whythem?”
“Thosethey’realliedwitharen’tattackedasoftenasothers.”
“Agoodreason.”
“And not the sole one. In Cintra women can’t rule. King Roegner died
some time ago and the queen doesn’t want another husband: our Lady
Calantheiswiseandjust,butakingisaking.Whoevermarriestheprincess
willsitonthethrone,andwewantatough,decentfellow.They haveto be
foundontheislands.They’reahardnation.Let’sgo.”
Geralt stopped halfway down the gallery surrounding the small inner
courtyardandlookedaround.
“Castellan,”hesaidunderhisbreath,“we’realone.Quickly,tellmewhy
thequeenneedsawitcher.Youofallpeoplemustknowsomething.”
“For the same reasons as everyone else,” Haxo grunted. “Cintra is just
likeanyothercountry.We’vegotwerewolvesandbasilisksandamanticore
couldbefound,too,ifyoulookedhardenough.Soawitchermightalsocome
inuseful.”
“Don’t twist my words, Castellan. I’m asking why the queen needs a
witcherindisguiseasabearpassant,withhairlooseatthat,atthebanquet.”
Haxoalsolookedaround,andevenleanedoverthegallerybalustrade.
“Something bad’s happening, Geralt,” he muttered. “In the castle.
Something’sfrighteningpeople.”
“What?”
“What usually frightens people? A monster. They say it’s small,
hunchbacked, bristling like a Urcheon. It creeps around the castle at night,
rattleschains.Moansandgroansinthechambers.”
“Haveyouseenit?”
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“No,”Haxospat,“andIdon’twantto.”
“You’re talking nonsense, Castellan,” grimaced the witcher. “It doesn’t
makesense.We’regoingtoanengagementfeast.WhatamIsupposedtodo
there? Wait for a hunchback to jump out and groan? Without a weapon?
Dresseduplikeajester?Haxo?”
“Thinkwhatyoulike,”grumbledthecastellan.“Theytoldmenottotell
you anything, but you asked. So I told you. And you tell me I’m talking
nonsense.Howcharming.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Castellan. I was simply
surprised…”
“Stopbeingsurprised.”Haxoturnedaway,stillsulking.“Yourjobisn’tto
besurprised.AndIstronglyadviseyou,witcher,thatifthequeenordersyou
to strip naked, paint your arse blue and hang yourself upside down in the
entrance hall like a chandelier, you do it without surprise or hesitation.
Otherwiseyoumight meet withafair,amountofunpleasantness. Have you
gotthat?”
“I’vegotit.Let’s go, Haxo. Whatever happens, that bath’s given me an
appetite.”
122
II
Apartfromthecurt,ceremoniousgreetingswithwhichshewelcomedhimas
“LordofFourhorn,”QueenCalanthedidn’texchangeasinglewordwiththe
witcher.Thebanquetwasabouttobeginandtheguests,loudlyannounedby
theherald,weregathering.
The table was huge, rectangular, and could seat more than forty men.
Calanthesatattheheadofthetableonathronewithahighbackrest.Geralt
satonher rightand,onher left, agray-hairedbard called Drogodar,witha
lute.Twomorechairsattheheadofthetable,onthequeen’sleft,remained
empty.
To Geralt’s right, along the table, sat Haxo and a voivode whose name
he’dforgotten.BeyondthemwereguestsfromtheDuchyofAttre—thesullen
andsilentknightRainfarnandhischarge,thechubbytwelve-year-oldPrince
Windhalm,one of the pretenders to the princess’s hand. Furtherdown were
thecolorfulandmotleyknightsfromCintra,andlocalvassals.
“BaronEylembertofTigg!”announcedtheherald.
“Coodcoodak!” murmured Calanthe, nudging Drogodar. “This will be
fun.”
A thin and whiskered, richly attired knight bowed low, but his lively,
happyeyesandcheerfulsmirkbeliedhissubservience.
“Greetings, Coodcoodak,” said the queen ceremoniously. Obviously the
baronwasbetterknownbyhisnicknamethanbyhisfamilyname.“Weare
happytoseeyou.”
“AndIamhappytobeinvited,”declaredCoodcoodak,andsighed.“Oh
well,I’llcastaneyeontheprincess,ifyoupermit,myqueen.It’shardtolive
alone,ma’am.”
“Aye, Coodcoodak.” Calanthe smiled faintly, wrapping a lock of hair
aroundherfinger.“Butyou’realreadymarried,aswewellknow.”
“Aaahh.”Thebaronwasmiffed.“Youknowyourself,ma’am,howweak
anddelicatemy wifeis,andsmallpox isrifeinthe neighborhood.Ibetmy
beltandswordagainstapairofoldslippersthatinayearI’llalreadybeoutof
mourning.”
“Poor man, Coodcoodak. But lucky, too.” Calanthe’s smile grew wider.
“Luckyyourwifeisn’tstronger.Ihearthatlastharvest,whenshecaughtyou
in the haystack with a strumpet, she chased you for almost a mile with a
pitchforkbutcouldn’tcatchyou.Youhavetofeedherbetter,cuddlehermore
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andtakecarethatherbackdoesn’tgetcoldduringthenight.Then,inayear,
you’llseehowmuchbettersheis.”
Coodcoodakpretendedtogrowdoleful.“Itakeyourpoint.ButcanIstay
forthefeast?”
“We’dbedelighted,Baron.”
“ThelegationfromSkellige!”shoutedtheherald,becomingincreasingly
hoarse.
Theislanders—fourofthem,inshinyleatherdoubletstrimmedwithseal
fur and belted with checkered woolen sashes—strode in with a sprightly,
hollowstep.Theywereledbyasinewywarriorwithadarkfaceandaquiline
noseand,athisside,abroad-shoulderedyouthwithamopofredhair.They
allbowedbeforethequeen.
“Itisagreathonor,”saidCalanthe,alittleflushed,“towelcomesuchan
excellentknightasEistTuirseachofSkelligetomycastleagain.Ifitweren’t
for your well-known disdain for marriage, I’d be delighted to think you’re
heretocourtmyPavetta.Haslonelinessgotthebetterofyouafterall,sir?”
“Often enough, beautiful Calanthe,” replied the dark-faced islander,
raisinghisglisteningeyestothequeen.“Butmylifeistoodangerousforme
tocontemplatealastingunion.Ifitweren’tforthat…Pavettaisstillayoung
girl,anunopenedbud,butIcansee…”
“Seewhat?”
“Theappledoesnotfallfarfromthetree.”EistTuirseachsmiled,flashing
hiswhiteteeth.“Sufficeittolookatyou,myqueen,toknowhowbeautiful
theprincesswillbewhenshereachestheageatwhichawomancanpleasea
warrior.Inthemeantime,itisyoungmenwhooughttocourther.Suchasour
KingBran’snephewhere,CrachanCraite,whotraveledhereforexactlythat
purpose.”
Crach,bowinghisredhead,kneltononekneebeforethequeen.
“Whoelsehaveyoubrought,Eist?”
A thickset, robust man with a bushy beard, and a strapping fellow with
bagpipesonhisback,kneltbyCrachanCraite.
“ThisisthegallantdruidMousesack,who,likeme,isagoodfriendand
advisor to King Bran. And this is Draig Bon-Dhu, our famous skald. And
thirtyseamenfromSkelligearewaitinginthecourtyard,burningwithhopeto
catchaglimpseofthebeautifulCalantheofCintra.”
“Sitdown,nobleguests.Tuirseach,sir,sithere.”
Eisttookthevacantseatatthenarrowerendofthetable,onlyseparated
fromthequeenbyDrogodarandanemptychair.Theremainingislanderssat
124
together on the left, between Marshal Vissegerd andthe three sons of Lord
Strept,Tinglant,FodcatandWieldhill.
“That’s more or less everyone.” The queen leaned over to the marshal.
“Let’sbegin,Vissegerd.”
Themarshal clappedhishands. Theservants,carrying plattersandjugs,
movedtowardthetableinalongline,greetedbyajoyfulmurmurfromthe
guests.
Calanthebarelyate, reluctantly pickingatthemorsels served her witha
silver fork. Drogodar, having bolted his food, kept strumminghis lute. The
restoftheguests,ontheotherhand,laidwastetotheroastpiglets,birds,fish
and mollusks on offer—with the red-haired Crach an Craite in the lead.
Rainfarn of Attre reprimanded the young Prince Windhalm severely, even
slapping his hand when he reached for a jug ofcider. Coodcoodak stopped
picking bones for a moment and entertained his neighbors by imitating the
whistleofamudturtle.Theatmospheregrewmerrierbytheminute.Thefirst
toastswerebeingraised,andalreadybecominglessandlesscoherent.
Calanthe adjusted the narrow golden circlet on her curled ash-gray hair
andturnedtoGeralt,whowasbusycrackingopenahugeredlobster.
“It’s loud enough that we can exchange a few words discreetly. Let us
startwithcourtesies:I’mpleasedtomeetyou.”
“Thepleasure’smutual,yourMajesty.”
“Afterthecourtesiescomehardfacts.I’vegotajobforyou.”
“So I gathered. I’m rarely invited to feasts for the pleasure of my
company.”
“You’reprobablynotveryinterestingcompany,then.Whatelsehaveyou
gathered?”
“I’lltellyouwhenyou’veoutlinedmytask,yourMajesty.”
“Geralt,” said Calanthe, her fingers tapping an emerald necklace, the
smalleststoneofwhich was the size of a bumblebee, “what sort of task do
youexpect,asawitcher?What?Diggingawell?Repairingaholeintheroof?
WeavingatapestryofallthepositionsKingVridankandthebeautifulCerro
tried on their wedding night? Surely you know what your profession’s
about?”
“Yes,Ido.I’lltellyouwhatI’vegathered,yourMajesty.”
“I’mcurious.”
“Igatheredthat.Andthat,likemanyothers,you’vemistakenmytradefor
analtogetherdifferentprofession.”
“Oh?” Calanthe, casually leaning toward the lute-strumming Drogodar,
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gavetheimpressionofbeingpensiveandabsent.“Who,Geralt,makesupthis
ignoranthordewithwhomyouequateme?Andforwhatprofessiondothose
foolsmistakeyourtrade?”
“YourMajesty,” saidGeraltcalmly,“whileI wasridingto Cintra,Imet
villagers, merchants, peddlers, dwarves, tinkers and woodcutters. They told
meaboutablackanniswhohasitshideoutsomewhereinthesewoods,alittle
house on a chicken-claw tripod. They mentioned a chimera nestling in the
mountains.Aeschnesandcentipedeanomorphs.Apparentlyamanticorecould
also be found if you look hard enough. So many tasks a witcher could
perform without having to dress up in someone else’s feathers and coat of
arms.”
“Youdidn’tanswermyquestion.”
“Your Majesty, I don’t doubt that a marriage alliance with Skellige is
necessaryforCintra.It’spossible,too,thattheschemerswhowanttoprevent
itdeservealesson—usingmeanswhichdon’tinvolveyou.It’sconvenientif
thislessonweretobegivenbyanunknownlordfromFourhorn,whowould
then disappear from the scene. And now I’ll answer your question. You
mistakemytradeforthatofahiredkiller.Thoseothers,ofwhomthereareso
many,arerulers.It’snotthefirsttimeI’vebeencalledtoacourtwherethe
problemsdemandthequicksolutionsofasword.ButI’veneverkilledpeople
for money, regardless of whether it’s for a good or bad cause. And I never
will.”
Theatmosphereatthetablewasgrowingmoreandmorelivelyasthebeer
diminished.Thered-hairedCrachanCraitefoundappreciativelistenerstohis
taleofthebattleatThwyth.Havingsketchedamaponthetablewiththehelp
of meat bones dipped in sauce, he marked out the strategic plan, shouting
loudly. Coodcoodak, proving how apt his nickname was, suddenly cackled
like a very real sitting hen, creating general mirth among the guests, and
consternationamongthe servants who were convinced that a bird, mocking
their vigilance, had somehow managed to makeits way from the courtyard
intothehall.
“Thusfatehaspunishedmewithtooshrewdawitcher.”Calanthesmiled,
buthereyeswerenarrowedandangry.“Awitcherwho,withoutashadowof
respector,attheveryleast,ofcommoncourtesy, exposes my intrigues and
infamous plans. But hasn’t fascination with my beauty and charming
personalitycloudedyour judgment? Don’tever do thatagain, Geralt. Don’t
speaktothoseinpowerlikethat.Fewofthemwouldforgetyourwords,and
you know kings—they have all sorts of things at their disposal: daggers,
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poisons, dungeons, red-hot pokers. There are hundreds, thousands, of ways
kingscanavengetheirwoundedpride.Andyouwouldn’tbelievehoweasyit
is,Geralt, towoundsome rulers’ pride.Rarelywillanyof themtakewords
suchas‘No,’‘Iwon’t,’and‘Never’calmly.Butthat’snothing.Interruptone
ofthemormakeinappropriatecomments,andyou’llcondemnyourselftothe
wheel.”
Thequeenclaspedhernarrowwhitehandstogetherandlightlyrestedher
chinonthem.Geraltdidn’tinterrupt,nordidhecomment.
“Kings,” continued Calanthe, “divide people into two categories—those
they order around, and those theybuy—because theyadhere tothe old and
banal truth that everyone can be bought. Everyone. It’s only a question of
price.Don’tyou agree?Ah,Idon’tneed to ask.You’reawitcher,after all;
youdoyourjobandtakethemoney.Asfarasyou’reconcerned,theideaof
beingboughthaslostitsscornfulundertone.Thequestionofyourprice,too,
isclear,relatedasitistothedifficultyofthetaskandhowwellyouexecute
it.Andyourfame,Geralt.Oldmenatfairsandmarketssingoftheexploitsof
the white-haired witcherfrom Rivia. Ifeven half of it istrue, then Iwager
yourservicesarenotcheap.Soitwouldbeawasteofmoneytoengageyouin
such simple, trite matters as palace intrigue or murder. Those can be dealt
withbyother,cheaperhands.”
“BRAAAK! Ghaaa-braaak!” roared Coodcoodak suddenly, to loud
applause. Geralt didn’t know which animal he was imitating, but he didn’t
want to meet anything like it. He turned his head and caught the queen’s
venomouslygreenglance.Drogodar,hisloweredheadandfaceconcealedby
Mscurtainofgrayhair,quietlystrummedhislute.
“Ah, Geralt,” said Calanthe, with a gesture forbidding a servant from
refillinghergoblet.“Ispeakandyouremainsilent.We’reatafeast.Weall
want to enjoy ourselves. Amuse me. I’m starting to miss your pertinent
remarksandperceptivecomments.I’dalsobepleasedtohearacompliment
or two, homage or assurance of your obedience. In whichever order you
choose.”
“Oh well, your Majesty,” said the witcher, “I’m not a very interesting
dinnercompanion.I’mamazedtobesingledoutforthehonorofoccupying
this place. Indeed, someone far more appropriate should have been seated
here. Anyone you wished. It would have sufficed for you to give them the
order,ortobuythem.It’sonlyaquestionofprice.”
“Go on, go on.” Calanthe tilted her head back and closed her eyes, the
semblanceofapleasantsmileonherlips.
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“So I’m honored and proud to be sitting by Queen Calanthe of Cintra,
whose beauty is surpassed only by her wisdom. I also regard it as a great
honorthatthequeenhasheardofmeandthat,onthebasisofwhatshehas
heard, does not wish to use me for trivial matters. Last winter Prince
Hrobarik,notbeingsogracious,triedtohiremetofindabeautywho,sickof
his vulgar advances, had fled the ball, losing a slipper. It was difficult to
convincehimthatheneededahuntsman,andnotawitcher.”
Thequeenwaslisteningwithanenigmaticsmile.
“Other rulers, too, unequal to you in wisdom, didn’t refrain from
proposingtrivialtasks.Itwasusuallyaquestionofthemurderofastepson,
stepfather,stepmother,uncle,aunt—it’shardtomentionthemall.Theywere
alloftheopinionthatitwassimplyaquestionofprice.”
Thequeen’ssmilecouldhavemeantanything.
“AndsoIrepeat”—Geraltbowedhisheadalittle—“thatIcan’tcontain
mypridetobesittingnexttoyou,ma’am.Andpridemeansaverygreatdeal
to us witchers. You wouldn’t believe how much. A lord once offended a
witcher’spridebyproposingajobthatwasn’tinkeepingwitheitherhonoror
thewitcher’scode.What’smore,hedidn’tacceptapoliterefusalandwished
to prevent the witcher from leaving his castle. Afterward, everyone agreed
thiswasn’toneofhisbestideas.”
“Geralt,” said Calanthe, after a moment’s silence, “you were wrong.
You’reaveryinterestingdinnercompanion.”
Coodcoodak, shaking beer froth from his whiskers and the front of his
jacket,cranedhisneckandgavethepenetratinghowlofashe-wolfinheat.
Thedogsinthecourtyard,andtheentireneighborhood,echoedthehowl.
OneofthebrothersfromStreptdippedhisfingerinhisbeerandtouched
upthethicklinearoundtheformationdrawnbyCrachanCraite.
“Errorand incompetence!” he shouted. “They shouldn’t have donethat!
Here, toward the wing, that’s where they should have directed the cavalry,
strucktheflanks!”
“Ha!” roared Crach an Craite, whacking the table with a bone and
splattering his neighbors’ faces and tunics with sauce. “And so weaken the
center?Akeyposition?Ludicrous!”
“Only someone who’s blind or sick in the head would miss the
opportunitytomaneuverinasituationlikethat!”
“That’sit!Quiteright!”shoutedWindhalmofAttre.
“Who’saskingyou,youlittlesnot?”
“Snotyourself!”
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“ShutyourgoborI’llwallopyou—”
“Sit on your arse and keep quiet, Crach,” called Eist Tuirseach,
interrupting his conversation with Vissegerd. “Enough of these arguments.
Drogodar, sir! Don’t waste your talent! Indeed, your beautiful though quiet
tunesshouldbelistenedtowithgreaterconcentrationandgravity.DraigBon-
Dhu, stop scoffing and guzzling! You’re not going to impress anyone here
like that. Pump up your bagpipes and delight our ears with decent martial
music.Withyourpermission,nobleCalanthe!”
“Ohmotherofmine,”whisperedthequeentoGeralt,raisinghereyesto
thevaultforamomentinsilentresignation.Butshenoddedherpermission,
smilingopenlyandkindly.
“DraigBon-Dhu,”saidEist,“playusthesongofthebattleofHochebuz.
Itwon’tleaveusinanydoubtastothetacticalmaneuversofcommanders—
or as to who acquired immortal fame there! To the health of the heroic
CalantheofCintra!”
“The health! And glory!” the guests roared, emptying their goblets and
claycups.
Draig Bon-Dhu’s bagpipes gave out an ominous drone and burst into a
terrible,drawn-out,modulatedwail.Thegueststookupthesong,beatingout
arhythmonthetablewithwhatevercametohand.Coodcoodakwasstaring
avidlyatthegoat-leathersack,captivatedbytheideaofadoptingitsdreadful
tonesinhisownrepertoire.
“Hochebuz,”saidCalante,lookingatGeralt,“myfirstbattle.AlthoughI
fearrousingtheindignationandcontemptofsuchaproudwitcher,Iconfess
thatwewerefightingformoney.Ourenemywasburningvillageswhichpaid
us levies and we, greedy for our tributes, challenged them on the field. A
trivialreason,atrivialbattle,atrivialthreethousandcorpsespeckedtopieces
bythe crows.Andlook—instead ofbeingashamed I’mproudasapeacock
thatsongsaresungaboutme.Evenwhensungtosuchawfulmusic.”
Again she summoned her parody of a smile full of happiness and
kindness, and answered the toast raised to her by lifting her own, empty,
goblet.Geraltremainedsilent.
“Let’s go on.” Calanthe accepted a pheasant leg offered to her by
Drogodarandpickedatitgracefully.“AsIsaid,you’vearousedmyinterest.
I’vebeentoldthatwitchersareaninterestingcaste,butIdidn’treallybelieve
it.NowIdo.Whenhit,yougiveanotewhichshowsyou’refashionedofpure
steel, unlike these men molded from bird shit. Which doesn’t, in any way,
changethefactthat you’re here to execute a task. And you’ll do it without
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beingsoclever.”
Geralt didn’t smile disrespectfully or nastily, although he very much
wantedto.Heheldhissilence.
“Ithought,” murmuredthequeen, appearingtogive herfullattentionto
thepheasant’sthigh,“thatyou’dsaysomething.Orsmile.No?Allthebetter.
CanIconsiderournegotiationsconcluded?”
“Uncleartasks,”saidthewitcherdryly,“can’tbeclearlyexecuted.”
“What’sunclear?Youdid,afterall,guesscorrectly.Ihaveplansregarding
amarriagealliancewithSkellige.Theseplansarethreatened,andIneedyou
toeliminatethethreat.Buthereyourshrewdnessends.ThesuppositionthatI
mistake your trade for that of a hired thug has piqued me greatly. Accept,
Geralt, that I belong to that select group of rulers who know exactly what
witchers do, and how they ought to be employed. On the other hand, if
someone kills as efficiently as you do, even though not for money, he
shouldn’tbe surprisedifpeople credithimwithbeinga professionalinthat
field.Yourfamerunsaheadofyou,Geralt;it’slouderthanDraigBon-Dhu’s
accursedbagpipes,andthereareequallyfewpleasantnotesinit.”
Thebagpipeplayer,althoughhecouldn’thearthequeen’swords,finished
his concert. The guests rewarded him with an uproarious ovation and
dedicated themselves with renewed zeal to the remains of the banquet,
recallingbattlesand making rude jokes about womenfolk. Coodcoodakwas
makingaseriesofloudnoises,buttherewasnowaytotellifthesewereyet
anotheranimalimitation,oranattempttorelievehisoverloadedstomach.
EistTuirseachleanedfaracrossthetable.“YourMajesty,”hesaid,“there
aregoodreasons,Iamsure,foryour dedication to the lord from Fourhorn,
butit’shightimewesawPrincessPavetta.Whatarewewaitingfor?Surely
notforCrachanCraitetogetdrunk?Andeventhatmomentisalmosthere.”
“You’rerightasusual,Eist.”Calanthesmiledwarmly.Geraltwasamazed
byherarsenalofsmiles.“Indeed,Idohaveimportantmatterstodiscusswith
theHonorable Ravix. I’ll dedicate some time to you too, butyou know my
principle:dutythenpleasure.Haxo!”
She raised her hand and beckoned the castellan. Haxo rose without a
word,bowed,andquicklyranupstairs,disappearingintothedarkgallery.The
queenturnedtothewitcher.
“You heard? We’ve been debating for too long. If Pavetta has stopped
preening in front of the looking glass,she’ll be here presently. So prick up
yourearsbecauseIwon’trepeatthis.Iwanttoachievetheendswhich,toa
certaindegree,youhaveguessed.Therecanbenoothersolution.Asforyou,
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youhaveachoice.Youcanbeforcedtoactbymycommand—Idon’twishto
dwell on the consequences of disobedience, although obedience will be
generouslyrewarded—oryoucanrendermeapaidservice.NotethatIdidn’t
say“Icanbuyyou,’becauseI’vedecidednottooffendyourwitcher’spride.
There’sahugedifference,isn’tthere?”
“Themagnitudeofthisdifferencehassomehowescapedmynotice.”
‘Thenpaygreaterattention.Thedifference,mydearwitcher,isthatone
who is bought is paid according to the buyer’s whim, whereas one who
rendersaservicesetshisownprice.Isthatclear?”
“Toacertainextent.Let’ssay,then,thatIchoosetoserve.SurelyIshould
knowwhatthatentails?”
“No. Only a commandhas tobe specific and explicit. A paidservice is
different.I’m interested in the results, nothing more.How youachieve itis
yourbusiness.”
Geralt, raising his head, met Mousesack’s penetrating black gaze. The
druid of Skellige, without taking his eyes from the witcher, was crumbling
breadinhishandsanddroppingitasiflostinthought.Geraltlookeddown.
Thereontheoaktable,crumbs,grainsofbuckwheatandfragmentsoflobster
shellweremovinglikeants.Theywereformingruneswhichjoinedup—fora
moment—intoaword.Aquestion.
Mousesack waited without taking his eyes off him. Geralt, almost
imperceptibly,nodded.Thedruidloweredhiseyelidsand,withastonyface,
swipedthecrumbsoffthetable.
“Honorablegentlemen!”calledtheherald.“PavettaofCintra!”
Theguestsgrewsilent,turningtothestairs.
Precededbythecastellanandafair-hairedpageinascarletdoublet,the
princess descended slowly, her head lowered. The color of her hair was
identicaltoher mother’s—ash-gray—but she wore it braidedinto two thick
plaitswhichreachedbelowherwaist.Pavettawasadornedonlywithatiara
ornamented with a delicately worked jewel and a belt of tiny golden links
whichgirdedherlongsilvery-bluedressatthehips.
Escorted by the page, herald, castellan and Vissegerd, the princess
occupiedtheemptychairbetweenDrogodarandEistTuirseach.Theknightly
islanderimmediatelyfilledhergobletandentertainedherwithconversation.
Geralt didn’t notice her answer with more than a word. Her eyes were
permanently lowered, hidden behind her long lashes even during the noisy
toasts raised to her around the table. There was no doubt her beauty had
impressedtheguests—CrachanCraitestoppedshoutingandstaredatPavetta
131
in silence, even forgetting his tankard of beer. Windhalm of Attre was also
devouringtheprincesswithhiseyes,flushingshadesofredasthoughonlya
few grains in the hourglass separated them from their wedding night.
CoodcoodakandthebrothersfromStreptwerestudyingthegirl’spetiteface,
too,withsuspiciousconcentration.
“Aha,” said Calanthe quietly, clearly pleased. “And what do you say,
Geralt?Thegirlhastakenafterhermother.It’sevenashametowasteheron
that red-haired lout, Crach. The only hope is that the pup might grow into
someone with EistTuirseach’s class. It’s the same blood,after all. Areyou
listening, Geralt? Cintra has to form an alliance with Skellige because the
interestof the state demands it. My daughter has tomarry the rightperson.
Thosearetheresultsyoumustensureme.”
“Ihavetoensurethat?Isn’tyourwillalonesufficientforittohappen?”
“Eventsmighttakesuchaturnthatitwon’tbesufficient.”
“Whatcanbestrongerthanyourwill?”
“Destiny.”
“Aha.SoI,apoorwitcher,amtofacedownadestinywhichisstronger
thantheroyalwill.Awitcherfightingdestiny!Whatirony!”
“Yes,Geralt?Whatirony?”
“Nevermind.YourMajesty,itseemstheserviceyoudemandborderson
theimpossible.”
“If it bordered on the possible,” Calanthe drawled, “I would manage it
myself. I wouldn’t need the famous Geralt of Rivia. Stop being so clever.
Everythingcanbedealtwith—it’sonlyaquestionofprice.Bloodyhell,there
must be a figure on your witchers’ pricelist for work that borders on the
impossible.Icanguessone,anditisn’tlow.Youensurememyoutcomeand
Iwillgiveyouwhatyouask.”
“Whatdidyousay?”
“I’llgiveyouwhateveryouaskfor.AndIdon’tlikebeingtoldtorepeat
myself.Iwonder,witcher,doyoualwaystrytodissuadeyouremployersas
stronglyasyouareme?Timeisslippingaway.Answer,yesorno?”
“Yes.”
“That’sbetter.That’sbetter,Geralt.Youranswersaremuchclosertothe
ideal.They’rebecomingmorelikethoseIexpectwhenIaskaquestion.So.
Discreetlystretchyourlefthandoutandfeelbehindmythrone.”
Geralt slipped his hand under the yellow-blue drapery. Almost
immediately he felt a sword secured to the leather-upholstered backrest. A
swordwell-knowntohim.
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“Your Majesty,” hesaid quietly, “not torepeatwhat I saidearlierabout
killingpeople,youdorealizethataswordalonewillnotdefeatdestiny?”
“Ido.”Calantheturnedherheadaway.“Awitcherisalsonecessary.As
yousee,Itookcareofthat.”
“YourMaje—”
“Notanotherword,Geralt.We’vebeenconspiringfortoolong.They’re
lookingatus,andEistisgettingangry.Talktothecastellan.Havesomething
toeat.Drink,butnottoomuch.Iwantyoutohaveasteadyhand.”
Heobeyed.ThequeenjoinedaconversationbetweenEist,Vissegerdand
Mousesack,withPavetta’ssilentanddreamyparticipation.Drogodarhadput
away his lute and was making up for his lost eating time. Haxo wasn’t
talkative. The voivode with the hard-to-remember name, who must have
heardsomethingabout the affairsand problems ofFourhorn, politely asked
whetherthemareswerefoalingwell.Geraltansweredyes,muchbetterthan
thestallions.Hewasn’tsureifthejokehadbeenwelltaken,butthevoivode
didn’taskanymorequestions.
Mousesack’seyesconstantlysoughtthewitcher’s,butthecrumbsonthe
tabledidn’tmoveagain.
Crach an Craite was becoming more and more friendly with the two
brothers from Strept. The third, the youngest brother, was paralytic, having
triedtomatchthedrinkingspeedimposedbyDraigBon-Dhu.Theskaldhad
emergedfromitunscathed.
The younger and less important lords gathered at the end of the table,
tipsy, started singing a well-known song—out of tune—about a little goat
withhornsandavengefuloldwomanwithnosenseofhumor.
Acurly-hairedservant andacaptain oftheguards wearingthegoldand
blue of Cintra ranup to Vissegerd. The marshal, frowning,listenedto their
report,rose,andleaneddownfrombehindthethronetomurmursomethingto
the queen. Calanthe glanced at Geralt and answered with a single word.
Vissegerdleanedoverevenfurtherandwhisperedsomethingmore;thequeen
lookedathimsharplyand,withoutaword,slappedherarmrestwithanopen
palm. The marshal bowed and passed the command to the captain of the
guards. Geralt didn’t hear it but he did notice that Mousesack wriggled
uneasilyandglancedatPavetta—theprincesswassittingmotionless,herhead
lowered.
Heavy footsteps, each accompanied by the clang of metal striking the
floor,couldbeheardoverthehumatthetable.Everyoneraisedtheirheads
andturned.
133
The approaching figure was clad in armor of iron sheets and leather
treatedwithwax.Hisconvex,angular,blackandbluebreastplateoverlapped
asegmentedapronandshortthighpads.Thearmor-platedbrassardsbristled
withsharp,steelspikesandthevisor,withitsdenselygratedscreenextending
out in the shape of a dog’s muzzle, was covered with spikes like a conker
casing.
Clatteringandgrinding,thestrangeguestapproachedthetableandstood
motionlessinfrontofthethrone.
“Noblequeen,honorablegentlemen,”saidthenewcomer,bowingstiffly.
“Please forgiveme for disruptingyour ceremonious feast. Iam Urcheon of
Erlenwald.”
“Greetings, Urcheon of Erlenwald,” said Calanthe slowly. “Please take
yourplaceatthetable.InCintrawewelcomeeveryguest.”
“Thankyou,yourMajesty.”UrcheonofErlenwaldbowedonceagainand
touchedhischestwithafistcladinanirongauntlet.“ButIhaven’tcometo
Cintra as a guest but on a matter of great importance and urgency. If your
Majesty permits, I will present my case immediately, without wasting your
time.”
“UrcheonofErlenwald,”saidthequeensharply,“apraiseworthyconcern
aboutourtimedoesnotjustifylackofrespect.Andsuchisyourspeakingto
usfrombehindanirontrellis.Removeyourhelmet,andwe’llendurethetime
wastedwhileyoudo.”
“My face, your Majesty, must remain hidden for the time being. “With
yourpermission.”
An angry ripple, punctuated here and there with the odd curse, ran
through the gathered crowd. Mousesack, lowering his head, moved his lips
silently.Thewitcherfeltthespellelectrifytheairforasecond,feltitstirhis
medallion. Calanthe was looking at Urcheon, narrowing her eyes and
drummingherfingersonherarmrest.
“Granted,” she said finally. “I choose to believe your motive is
sufficientlyimportant.So—whatbringsyouhere,Urcheon-without-a-face?”
“Thankyou,”saidthenewcomer.“ButI’munabletosuffertheaccusation
oflackingrespect,soIexplainthatitisamatterofaknight’svows.Iamnot
allowedtorevealmyfacebeforemidnightstrikes.”
Calanthe, raising her hand perfunctorily, accepted his explanation.
Urcheonadvanced,hisspikedarmorclanging.
“Fifteenyears ago,” he announced loudly, “yourhusbandKingRoegner
lost his way while hunting in Erlenwald. Wandering around the pathless
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tracts,hefellfromhishorseintoaravineandsprainedhisleg.Helayatthe
bottomofthegullyandcalledforhelpbuttheonlyanswerhegotwasthehiss
of vipers and the howlingofapproaching werewolves. He would havedied
withoutthehelphereceived.”
“Iknowwhathappened,”thequeenaffirmed.“Ifyouknowit,too,thenI
guessyouaretheonewhohelpedhim.”
“Yes.Itisonlybecauseofmehereturnedtoyouinonepiece,andwell.”
“Iamgratefultoyou,then,UrcheonofErlenwald.Thatgratitudeisnone
thelesserforthefactthatRoegner,gentlemanofmyheartandbed,hasleft
thisworld.Tellme,iftheimplicationthatyouraidwasnotdisinteresteddoes
notoffendanotherofyourknightlyvows,howIcanexpressmygratitude.”
“Youwellknowmyaidwasnotdisinterested.Youknow,too,thatIhave
cometocollectthepromisedrewardforsavingtheking’slife.”
“Oh yes?” Calanthe smiled but green sparks lit up her eyes. “So you
foundamanatthebottomofaravine,defenseless,wounded,atthemercyof
vipersandmonsters.Andonlywhenhepromisedyouarewarddidyouhelp?
Andifhedidn’twanttoorcouldn’tpromiseyousomething,you’dhaveleft
himthere,and,tothisday,Iwouldn’tknowwherehisboneslay?Hownoble.
No doubt your actions were guided by a particularly chivalrous vow at the
time.”
Themurmuraroundthehallgrewlouder.
“Andtodayyoucome for your reward, Urcheon?”continuedthequeen,
smiling even more ominously. “After fifteen years? No doubt you are
countingtheinterestaccruedoverthisperiod?Thisisn’tthedwarves’bank,
Urcheon. You say Roegner promised you a reward? Ah, well, it will be
difficulttogethimtopayyou.Itwouldbesimplertosendyoutohim,into
the other world, to reach an agreement over who owes what. I loved my
husbandtoodearly,Urcheon,toforgetthatIcouldhavelosthimthen,fifteen
yearsago,ifhehadn’tchosentobargainwithyou.Thethoughtofitarouses
rather-ill feeling toward you. Masked newcomer, do you know that here in
Cintra, in my castleandin my power,you are just ashelplessand close to
death as Roegner was then, at the bottom of the ravine? What will you
propose,whatprice,whatrewardwillyouoffer,ifIpromiseyouwillleave
herealive?”
The medallion on Geralt’s neck twitched. The witcher caught
Mousesack’s clearly uneasy gaze. He shook his head a little and raised his
eyebrows questioningly. The druid also shook his head and, with a barely
perceptiblemoveofhiscurlybeard,indicatedUrcheon.Geraltwasn’tsure.
135
“Your words, your Majesty,” calledUrcheon, “arecalculated to frighten
me, to kindle the anger of the honorable gentlemen gathered here, and the
contempt of your pretty daughter, Pavetta. But above all, your words are
untrue.Andyouknowit!”
“You accuse me of lying like a dog.” An ugly grimace crept across
Calanthe’slips.
“Youknowverywell,yourMajesty,”thenewcomercontinuedadamantly,
“whathappenedtheninErlenwald.YouknowRoegner,oncesaved,vowedof
hisownwilltogivemewhateverIaskedfor.Icalluponeveryonetowitness
my words! When the king, rescued from his misadventure, reached his
retinue,heaskedmewhatIdemandedandIanswered.Iaskedhimtopromise
mewhateverhehadleftathomewithoutknowingorexpectingit.Theking
sworeitwouldbeso,andonhisreturntothecastlehefoundyou,Calanthe,
inlabor.Yes,yourMajesty,Iwaitedforfifteenyearsandtheinterestonmy
rewardhasgrown.TodayIlookatthebeautifulPavettaandseethatthewait
hasbeenworthit!Gentlemenandknights!SomeofyouhavecometoCintra
toaskfor theprincess’s hand.Youhavecome invain.Fromthe dayofher
birth, by the power of the royaloath, the beautiful Pavetta hasbelonged to
me!”
Anuproar burstforthamongtheguests.Someshouted,someoneswore,
someone else thumped his fist on the table and knocked the dishes over.
WieldhillofStrept pulledaknifeout of theroastlamb and waveditabout.
CrachanCraite,bentover,wasclearlytryingtobreakaplankfromthetable
trestle.
“That’sunheardof!”yelledVissegerd.“Whatproofdoyouhave?Proof?”
“Thequeen’sface,”exclaimedUrcheon,extendinghishand,“isthebest
proof!”
Pavetta sat motionless, not raising her head. The air was growing thick
withsomethingverystrange.Thewitcher’smedallionwastearingatitschain
under the tunic. He saw the queen summon a page and whisper a short
command.Geraltcouldn’thearit,buthewaspuzzledbythesurpriseonthe
boy’s face andthefact that the command had toberepeated.The page ran
towardtheexit.
TheuproaratthetablecontinuedasEistTuirseachturnedtothequeen.
“Calanthe,”hesaidcalmly,“iswhathesaystrue?”
“And if it is,” the queen mutteredthrough her teeth, biting herlips and
pickingatthegreensashonhershoulder,“sowhat?”
“Ifwhathesaysistrue”—Eistfrowned—“thenthepromisewillhaveto
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bekept.”
“Isthatso?”
“Or am I to understand,” the islander asked grimly, “that you treat all
promisesthislightly,includingthosewhichhaveetchedthemselvessodeeply
inmymemory?”
Geralt,whohadneverexpectedtoseeCalantheblushdeeply,withtearsin
hereyesandtremblinglips,wassurprised.
“Eist,”whisperedthequeen,“thisisdifferent—”
“Isit,really?”
“Oh,you sonofabitch!”Crachan Craiteyelledunexpectedly, jumping
up.“ThelastfoolwhosaidI’dactedinvainwaspinchedapartbycrabsatthe
bottom of Allenker bay! I didn’t sail here from Skellig to return empty-
handed!Asuitorhasturnedup,somesonofatrollop!Someonebringmea
swordandgivethatidiotsomeiron!We’llsoonseewho—”
“Maybeyoucouldjustshutup,Crach?”Eistsnappedscathingly,resting
both fists on the table. “Draig Bon-Dhu! I render you responsible for his
futurebehavior!”
“Andare yougoingto silenceme,too, Tuirseach?” shoutedRainfarnof
Attre,standingup.“Whoisgoingtostopmefromwashingtheinsultthrown
atmyprinceawaywithblood?Andhisson,Windhalm,theonlymanworthy
of Pavetta’s hand and bed! Bring the swords! I’ll show that Urcheon, or
whateverhe’scalled,howweofAttretakerevengeforsuchabuse!Iwonder
whetheranybodyoranythingcanholdmeback?”
“Yes. Regard for good manners,” said Eist Tuirseach calmly. “It is not
propertostartafighthereorchallengeanyonewithoutpermissionfromthe
ladyofthehouse.Whatisthis?IsthethroneroomofCintraaninnwhereyou
can punch each other’s heads and stab each other with knives as the fancy
takesyou?”
Everybodystartedtoshoutagain,tocurseandswearandwavetheirarms
about. But the uproar suddenly stopped, as if cut by a knife, at the short,
furiousroarofanenragedbison.
“Yes,” said Coodcoodak, clearing his throat and rising from his chair.
“Eisthasitwrong.Thisdoesn’tevenlooklikeaninnanymore.It’smorelike
azoo, soabison shouldbeathomehere. HonorableCalanthe,allowmeto
offermyopinion.”
“Agreatmanypeople,Isee,”saidCalantheinadrawlingvoice,“havean
opinion on this problem and are offering it even without my permission.
Strange that you aren’t interested in mine? And in my opinion, this bloody
137
castlewillsoonercollapseonmyheadthanIgivemyPavettatothiscrank.I
haven’ttheleastintention—”
“Roegner’soath—”Urcheonbegan,butthequeensilencedhim,banging
hergoldengobletonthetable.
“Roegner’soathmeansaboutasmuchtomeaslastyear’ssnows!Andas
for you, Urcheon, I haven’t decided whether to allow Crach or Rainfarn to
meet you outside, or to simply hang you. You’re greatly influencing my
decisionwithyourinterruption!”
Geralt, still disturbed by the way his medallion was quivering, looked
around the hall. Suddenly he saw Pavetta’s eyes, emerald green like her
mother’s.Theprincesswasnolongerhidingthembeneathherlonglashes—
she swept them from Mousesack to the witcher, ignoring the others.
Mousesack,bentover,waswrigglingandmutteringsomething.
Coodcoodak,stillstanding,clearedhisthroatmeaningfully.
“Speak.”Thequeennodded.“Butbebrief.”
“As you command, your Majesty. Noble Calanthe and you, knights!
Indeed, Urcheon of Erlenwald made a strange request of King Roegner, a
strangerewardtodemandwhenthekingofferedhimhiswish.Butletusnot
pretendwe’veneverheardofsuchrequests,oftheLawofSurprise,asoldas
humanity itself. Of the price a man who saves another can demand, of the
grantingofaseeminglyimpossiblewish.‘Youwillgivemethefirstthingthat
comes to greet you.’ It might be a dog, you’llsay, a halberdier at thegate,
even a mother-in-law impatient to holler at her son-in-law when he returns
home.Or:‘You’llgivemewhatyoufindathomeyetdon’texpect.’Aftera
longjourney,honorablegentlemen,andanunexpectedreturn,thiscouldbea
lover in the wife’s bed. But sometimes it’s a child. A child marked out by
destiny.”
“Briefly,Coodcoodak.”Calanthefrowned.
“Asyoucommand.Sirs!Haveyounotheardofchildrenmarkedoutby
destiny?Wasnotthelegendaryhero,ZatretVoruta,giventothedwarvesasa
childbecausehewasthefirstpersonhisfathermetonhisreturn?AndMad
Dei,whodemandedatravelergivehimwhatheleftathomewithoutknowing
it?ThatsurprisewasthefamousSupree,wholaterliberatedMadDei”from
the curse which weighed him down. Remember Zivelena, who became the
Queen of Metinna with the help of the gnome Rumplestelt, and in return
promised him her firstborn? Zivelena didn’t keep her promise when
Rumplesteltcameforhisrewardand,byusingspells,sheforcedhimtorun
away.Notlongafterthat,bothsheandthechilddiedoftheplague.Youdo
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notdicewithDestinywithimpunity!”
“Don’t threaten me, Coodcoodak.” Calanthe grimaced. “Midnight is
close, the time for ghosts. Can you remember any more legends from your
undoubtedlydifficultchildhood?Ifnot,thensitdown.”
“IaskyourGrace”—thebaronturneduphislongwhiskers—“toallowme
to remain standing. I’d like to remind everybody of another legend. It’s an
old,forgottenlegend—we’veallprobablyhearditinourdifficultchildhoods.
Inthislegend,thekingskepttheirpromises.Andwe,poorvassals,areonly
boundtokingsbytheroyalword:treaties,alliances,ourprivilegesandfiefs
allrelyonit.Andnow?Arewetodoubtallthis?Doubttheinviolabilityof
theking’sword?Waituntilitisworthasmuchasyesteryear’ssnow?Ifthisis
how things are to be, then a difficult old age awaits us after our difficult
childhoods!”
“Whosesideareyouon,Coodcoodak?”holleredRainfarnofAttre.
“Silence!Lethimspeak!”
“Thiscackler,fullofhotair,insultsherMajesty!”
“TheBaronofTiggisright!”
“Silence,”Calanthesaidsuddenly,gettingup.“Lethimfinish.”
“Ithankyougraciously.”Coodcoodakbowed.“ButIhavejustfinished.”
Silencefell,strangeafterthecommotionhiswordshadcaused.Calanthe
wasstillstanding.Geraltdidn’tthinkanyoneelsehadnoticedherhandshake
asshewipedherbrow.
“My lords,” she said finally, “you deserve an explanation. Yes, this…
Urcheon…speaksthetruth.Roegnerdidsweartogivehimthatwhichhedid
notexpect.Itlooksasifourlamentedkingwasanoafasfarasawoman’s
affairsareconcerned,andcouldn’tbetrustedtocounttonine.Heconfessed
the truth on his deathbed, because he knew what I’d do to him if he’d
admitted it earlier. He knew what a mother, whose child is disposed of so
recklessly,iscapableof.”
Theknightsandmagnatesremainedsilent.Urcheonstoodmotionless,like
aspiked,ironstatue.
“And Coodcoodak,” continued Calanthe, “well, Coodcoodak has
remindedmethatIamnotamotherbutaqueen.Verywell,then.Asqueen,I
shallconvene a council tomorrow. Cintra isnot atyranny. Thecouncil will
decidewhetheradeadking’soathistodecidethefateofthesuccessortothe
throne.ItwilldecidewhetherPavettaandthethroneofCintraaretobegiven
to a stranger, or to act according to the kingdom’s interest.” Calanthe was
silentforamoment,lookingaskanceatGeralt.“Andasforthenobleknights
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whohavecometoCintrainthehopeoftheprincess’shand…Itonlyremains
for me to express my deep regret at the cruel disrespect and dishonor they
haveexperiencedhere,attheridiculepouredonthem.Iamnottoblame.”
Amid the humof voices which rumbledthrough the guests,the witcher
managedtopickoutEistTuirseach’swhisper.
“Onallthegodsofthesea,”sighedtheislander.“Thisisn’tbefitting.This
isopenincitementtobloodshed.Calanthe,you’resimplysettingthemagainst
eachother—”
“Bequiet,Eist,”hissedthequeenfuriously,“becauseI’llgetangry.”
Mousesack’s black eyes flashed as—with a glance—the druid indicated
RainfarnofAttrewho,withagloomy,grimacingface,waspreparingtostand.
Geraltreactedimmediately,standingupfirstandbangingthechairnoisily.
“Maybe it will prove unnecessary to convene the council,” he said in
ringingtones.
Everyone grew silent, watching him with astonishment. Geralt felt
Pavetta’s emerald eyes on him, he felt Urcheon’s gaze fall on him from
behindthelatticeofhisblackvisor,andhefelttheForcesurginglikeaflood-
waveandsolidifyingintheair.Hesawhow,undertheinfluenceofthisForce,
thesmokefromthetorchesandoillampswastakingonfantasticforms.He
knewthatMousesacksawittoo.Healsoknewthatnobodyelsesawit.
“Isaid,”he repeated calmly, “thatconveningthecouncil may not prove
necessary.YouunderstandwhatIhaveinmind,UrcheonofErlenwald?”
Thespikedknighttooktwogratingstepsforward.
“Ido,”hesaid,hiswordshollowbeneathhishelmet.“Itwouldtakeafool
nottounderstand.Iheardwhatthemercifulandnoblelady Calanthesaida
momentago.Shehas found an excellent way of gettingridofme.Iaccept
yourchallenge,knightunknowntome!”
“Idon’trecallchallengingyou,”saidGeralt.“Idon’tintendtoduelyou,
UrcheonofErlenwald.”
“Geralt!” called Calanthe, twisting her lips and forgetting to call the
witcherRavix,“don’toverdoit!Don’tputmypatiencetothetest!”
“Ormine,”addedRainfarnominously.CrachanCraitegrowled,andEist
Tuirseach meaningfully showed him a clenched fist. Crach growled even
louder.
“Everyone heard,” spoke Geralt, “Baron Tigg tell us about the famous
heroestakenfromtheirparentsonthestrengthofthesameoaththatUrcheon
receivedfromKingRoegner.Butwhyshouldanyonewantsuchanoath?You
know the answer,Urcheon of Erlenwald. Itcreatesa powerful, indissoluble
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tieofdestinybetweenthepersondemandingtheoathanditsobject,thechild-
surprise.Suchachild,markedbyblindfate,canbedestinedforextraordinary
things. It can play an incredibly important role in the life of the person to
whom fate has tied it. That is why, Urcheon, you demanded the prize you
claimtoday.Youdon’twantthethroneofCintra.Youwanttheprincess.”
“It is exactlyas you say, knight unknown tome.” Urcheon laughedout
loud.“ThatisexactlywhatIclaim!Givemetheonewhoismydestiny!”
“That,”saidGeralt,“willhavetobeproved.”
“You dare doubt it? After the queen confirmed the truth of my words?
Afterwhatyou’vejustsaid?”
“Yes.Becauseyoudidn’ttelluseverything.Roegnerknewthepowerof
the Law of Surprise and the gravity of the oath he took. And he took it
because he knew law and custom have a power which protects such oaths,
ensuring they are only fulfilled when the force of destiny confirms them. I
declare,Urcheon,thatyouhavenorighttotheprincessasyet.Youwillwin
heronlywhen—”
“Whenwhat?”
“Whentheprincessherselfagreestoleavewithyou.ThisiswhattheLaw
ofSurprisestates. It isthechild’s,nottheparent’s,consentwhichconfirms
theoath,whichprovesthatthechildwasbornundertheshadowofdestiny.
That’swhyyoureturnedafterfifteenyears,Urcheon,andthat’sthecondition
KingRoegnerstipulatedinhisoath.”
“Whoareyou?”
“IamGeraltofRivia.”
“Whoareyou,GeraltofRivia,toclaimtobeanoracleinmattersoflaws
andcustoms?”
“Heknowsthislawbetterthananyoneelse,”Mouse-sacksaidinahoarse
voice,“becauseitappliedtohimonce.Hewastakenfromhishomebecause
hewaswhathisfatherhadn’texpectedtofindonhisreturn.Becausehewas
destinedforotherthings.Andbythepowerofdestinyhebecamewhatheis.”
“Andwhatishe?”
“Awitcher.”
In the silence that reigned, the guardhouse bell struck, announcing
midnight in a dull tone. Everyone shuddered and raised their heads.
Mousesack watched Geralt with surprise. But it was Urcheon who flinched
mostnoticeablyandmoveduneasily.Hishands,cladintheirarmorgauntlets,
felltohissideslifelessly,andthespikedhelmetswayedunsteadily.
Thestrange,unknownForcesuddenlygrewthicker,fillingthehalllikea
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graymist.
“It’strue,”saidCalanthe.“Geralt,presenthere,isawitcher.Histradeis
worthy of respect and esteem. He has sacrificed himself to protect us from
monstersandnightmaresborninthenight,thosesentbypowersominousand
harmfultoman.Hekillsthehorrorsandmonstersthatawaitusintheforests
and ravines. And those which have the audacity to enter our dwellings.”
Urcheonwassilent.“Andso,”continuedthequeen,raisingherringedhand,
“letthelawbefulfilled,lettheoathwhichyou,UrcheonofErlenwald,insist
should be satisfied, be satisfied. Midnight has struck. Your vow no longer
bindsyou.Liftyourvisor.Beforemydaughterexpressesherwill,beforeshe
decidesherdestiny,letherseeyourface.Weallwishtoseeyourface.”
Urcheon of Erlenwald slowly raised his armored hand, pulled at the
helmet’sfastenings,grabbeditbytheironhornandthrewitagainstthefloor
with a crash. Someone shouted, someone swore, someone sucked in their
breathwithawhistle.Onthequeen’sfaceappeareda wicked,verywicked,
smile.Acruelsmileoftriumph.
Abovethewide,semi-circularbreastplate,twobulbous,black,buttoneyes
looked out. Eyes set to either side of a blunt, elongated muzzle covered in
reddish bristles and full of sharp white fangs. Urcheon’s head and neck
bristledwithabrushofshort,gray,twitchingprickles.
“ThisishowIlook,”spokethecreature,“whichyouwellknew,Calanthe.
Roegner, in telling you of his oath, wouldn’t have omitted describing me.
UrcheonofErlenwaldtowhom—despitemyappearance—Roegnersworehis
oath.Youpreparedwellformyarrival,queen.Yourownvassalshavepointed
out your haughty and contemptuous refusal to keepRoegner’s word. When
your attempt to set the other suitors on me didn’t succeed, you still had a
killerwitcherinreserve,readyatyourrighthand.Andfinally,common,low
deceit.You wanted to humiliate me,Calanthe. Know thatit isyourself you
havehumiliated!”
“Enough.” Calanthe stood up and rested her clenched fist on her hip.
“Let’sputanendtothis.Pavetta!Youseewho,orratherwhat,isstandingin
front of you, claiming you for himself. In accordance with the Law of
Surprise and eternal custom, thedecision isyours. Answer. One word from
you is enough. Yes, and you become the property, the conquest, of this
monster.No,andyouwillneverhavetoseehimagain.”
The Force pulsating in the hall was squeezing Geralt’s temples like an
ironvice,buzzinginhisears,makingthehaironhisneckstandonend.The
witcher looked at Mousesack’s whiteningknuckles,clenched at the edgeof
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the table. At the trickle of sweat running down the queen’s cheek. At the
breadcrumbsonthetable,movinglikeinsects,formingrunes,dispersingand
againgatheringintooneword:CAREFUL!
“Pavetta!”Calantherepeated.“Answer.Doyouchoosetoleavewiththis
creature?”
Pavettaraisedherhead.“Yes.”
TheForcefillingthehallechoedher,rumblinghollowlyinthearchesof
thevault.Noone,absolutelynoone,madetheslightestsound.
Calantheveryslowlycollapsedintoherthrone.Herfacewascompletely
expressionless.
“Everyoneheard,”Urcheon’scalmvoiceresoundedinthesilence.“You,
too,Calanthe.Asdidyou,witcher,cunning,hiredthug.Myrightshavebeen
established. Truth and destiny have triumphed over lies and deviousness.
Whatdoyouhaveleft,noblequeen,disguisedwitcher?Coldsteel?”Noone
answered. “I’d liketo leave with Pavettaimmediately,” continuedUrcheon,
hisbristlesstirringashesnappedhisjawshut,“butIwon’tdenymyselfone
smallpleasure.It is you, Calanthe, who will lead your daughterhere to me
andplaceherwhitehandinmine.”
Calanthe slowly turned her head in the witcher’s direction. Her eyes
expressedacommand.Geraltdidn’tmove,sensingthattheForcecondensing
in the airwas concentrated on him. Only on him.Now he understood.The
queen’seyesnarrowed,herlipsquivered…
“What?! What’s this?” yelled Crach an Craite, jumping up. “Her white
hand?Inhis?Theprincesswiththisbristlystinker?Withthis…pig’ssnout?”
“And I wanted to fight him like a knight!” Rainfarn chimed in. “This
horror,thisbeast!Loosethedogsonhim!Thedogs!”
“Guards!”criedCalanthe.
Everything happened at once. Crach an Craite seized a knife from the
table and knocked his chair over with a crash. Obeying Eist’s command,
Draig Bon-Dhu, without a thought, whacked the back of his head with his
bagpipes, as hard as he could. Crach dropped onto the table between a
sturgeon in gray sauce and the few remaining arched ribs of a roast boar.
Rainfarn leapt toward Urcheon, flashing a dagger drawn from his sleeve.
Coodcoodak, springing up, kicked a stool under his feet which Rainfarn
jumped agilely, but a moment’s delay was enough—Urcheon deceived him
withashort feintandforced him tohisknees withamightyblow fromhis
armored fist. Coodcoodak fell to snatch the dagger from Rainfarn but was
stoppedbyPrinceWindhalm,whoclungtohisthighlikeabloodhound.
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Guards, armed with guisarmes and lances, ran in from the entrance.
Calanthe, upright and threatening, with an authoritative, abrupt gesture
indicatedUrcheontothem.Pavettastartedtoshout,EistTuirseachtocurse.
Everyonejumpedup,notquiteknowingwhattodo.
“Killhim!”shoutedthequeen.
Urcheon,huffingangrilyandbaringhisfangs,turnedtofacetheattacking
guards.Hewasunarmedbutcladinspikedsteel,fromwhichthepointsofthe
guisarmes bounced witha clang. But theblows knocked himback, straight
ontoRainfarn,whowasjustgettingupandimmobilizedhimbygrabbinghis
legs. Urcheon let out a roar and, with his iron elbow-guards, deflected the
bladesaimedathishead.Rainfarnjabbedhimwithhisdaggerbuttheblade
slidoffthebreastplate.Theguards,crossingtheirspear-shafts,pinnedhimto
thesculptedchimney.Rainfarn,whowashangingontohisbelt,foundachink
inthearmoranddugthedaggerintoit.Urcheoncurledup.
“Dunyyyyyyy!”Pavettashrilledasshejumpedontothechair.
The witcher, sword in hand, sprang onto the table and ran toward the
fightingmen,knockingplates,dishesandgobletsallovertheplace.Heknew
there wasn’t much time. Pavetta’s cries were sounding more and more
unnatural.Rainfarnwasraisinghisdaggertostabagain.
Geralt cut, springing from the table into a crouch. Rainfarn wailed and
staggered to the wall. The witcher spun and, with the center of his blade,
slashedaguardwhowastryingtodigthesharptongueofhislancebetween
Urcheon’sapronandbreastplate.Theguardtumbledtotheground,losinghis
helmet.Moreguardscamerunninginfromtheentrance.
“This is not befitting!” roared Eist Tuirseach, grabbing a chair. He
shattered the unwieldly piece of furniture against the floor with great force
and, with what remained his hand, threw himself at those advancing on
Urcheon.
Urcheon,caughtbytwoguisarmehooksatthesametime,collapsedwith
aclang,criedoutandhuffedashewasdraggedalongthefloor.Athirdguard
raisedhislancetostabdownandGeraltcuthiminthetemplewiththepoint
ofhissword.ThosedraggingUrcheonsteppedbackquickly,throwingdown
theirguisarmes,whilethoseapproachingfromtheentrancebackedawayfrom
theremnantsofchairbrandishedbyEistlikethemagicswordBalmurinthe
handofthelegendaryZatretaVoruta.
Pavetta’s cries reached a peak and suddenly broke off. Geralt, sensing
whatwasabouttohappen,felltothefloorwatchingforagreenishflash.He
felt an excruciating pain in his ears, heard a terrible crash and a horrifying
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wailrippedfromnumerousthroats.Andthentheprincess’seven,monotonous
andvibratingcry.
Thetable,scatteringdishesandfoodallaround,wasrisingandspinning;
heavy chairs were flying around the hall and shattering against the walls;
tapestries and hangingswere flapping, raising cloudsof dust. Criesand the
drycrackofguisarmeshaftssnappinglikestickscamefromtheentrance.
Thethrone,withCalanthesittingonit,sprangupandflewacrossthehall
likeanarrow,smashingintothewallwithacrashandfallingapart.Thequeen
slidtothefloorlikearaggedpuppet.EistTuirseach,barelyonhisfeet,threw
himself toward her, took her in his arms and sheltered her from the hail
peltingagainstthewallsandfloorwithhisbody.
Geralt,graspingthemedallioninhishand,slitheredasquicklyashecould
toward Mousesack, miraculously still on his knees, who was lifting a short
hawthorn wand with a rat’s skull affixed to thetip. On the wall behind the
druid,atapestrydepictingthesiegeandfireofFortressOrtagarwasburning
withveryrealflames.
Pavetta wailed. Turning round and round, she lashed everything and
everybody with her cries as if with a whip. Anyone who tried to stand
tumbledtothegroundorwasflattenedagainstthewall.Anenormoussilver
sauceboat in the shape of a many-oared vesselwith an upturnedbow came
whistling through the air in front of Geralt’s eyes and knocked down the
voivode with thehard-to-remember name justas he was trying tododge it.
Plaster rained down silently as the table rotated beneath the ceiling, with
CrachanCraiteflattenedonitandthrowingdownvilecurses.
Geralt crawled to Mousesack and they hid behind the heap formed by
FodcatofStrept,abarrelofbeer,Drogodar,achairandDrogodar’slute.
“It’spure,primordialForce!”thedruidyelledovertheracketandclatter.
“She’sgotnocontroloverit!”
“Iknow!”Geraltyelledback.Aroastpheasantwithafewstripedfeathers
stillstuckinitsrump,fellfromnowhereandthumpedhimintheback.
“Shehastoberestrained!Thewallsarestartingtocrack!”
“Icansee!”
“Ready?”
“Yes!”
“One!Two!Now!”
They both hit her simultaneously, Geralt with the Sign of Aard and
Mousesack with a terrible, three-staged curse powerful enough to make the
floor melt. The chair on which the princess was standing disintegrated into
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splinters. Pavetta barely noticed—she hung in the air within a transparent
greensphere.Withoutceasingtoshout,sheturnedherheadtowardthemand
herpetitefaceshrunkintoasinistergrimace.
“Byallthedemons—!”roaredMousesack.
“Careful!”shoutedthewitcher,curlingup.“Blockher,Mousesack!Block
herorit’stheendofus!”
The table thudded heavily to the ground, shattering its trestle and
everything beneath it. Crach an Craite, who was lying on the table, was
thrownintotheair.Aheavyrainofplatesandremnantsoffoodfell;crystal
carafes exploded as they hit the ground. The cornice broke away from the
wall,rumblinglikethunder,makingthefloorsofthecastlequake.
“Everything’s letting go!” Mousesack shouted, aiming his wand at the
princess.“ThewholeForceisgoingtofallonus!”
Geralt, with a blow of his sword,deflected a hugedouble-pronged fork
whichwasflyingstraightatthedruid.
“Blockit,Mousesack!”
Emeraldeyessenttwoflashesofgreenlightningatthem.Theycoiledinto
blinding, whirling funnels from the centers of which the Force—like a
battering ram which exploded the skull, put out the eyes and paralyzed the
breath—descended on them. Together with the Force, glass, majolica,
platters, candlesticks, bones, nibbled loaves of bread, planks, slats and
smolderingfirewoodfromthehearthpouredoverthem.Cryingwildlylikea
greatcapercaillie,CastellanHaxoflewovertheirheads.Theenormoushead
ofaboiledcarpsplatteredagainstGeralt’schest,onthebearpassantsableand
damselofFourhorn.
Through Mousesack’s wall-shattering curses, through his own shouting
andthewailingofthewounded,thedin,clatterandracket,throughPavetta’s
wailing,thewitchersuddenlyheardthemostterriblesound.
Coodcoodak,onhisknees,wasstranglingDraigBon-Dhu’sbagpipeswith
hishands,while,withhisheadthrownback,heshoutedoverthemonstrous
sounds emerging from the bag, wailed and roared, cackled and croaked,
bawled and squawked in a cacophony of sounds made by all known,
unknown,domestic,wildandmythicalanimals.
Pavetta fell silent, horrified, and looked at the baron with her mouth
agape.TheForceeasedoffabruptly.
“Now!”yelledMousesack,wavinghiswand.“Now,witcher!”
They hit her. The greenish sphere surrounding the princess burst under
theirblowlikeasoapbubble and the vacuum instantly sucked in the Force
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ragingthroughtheroom.Pavettafloppedheavilytothegroundandstartedto
weep.
Afterthepandemonium,amoment’ssilencerangintheirears;then,with
difficulty, laboriously, voices started to break through the rubble and
destruction,throughthebrokenfurnitureandtheinertbodies.
“Cuachoparse,ghoulybadraighmalancuach,”spatCrachanCraite,
sprayingbloodfromhisbittenlip.
“Control yourself, Crach,” said Mousesack with effort, shaking
buckwheatfromhisfront.“Therearewomenpresent.”
“Calanthe.Mybeloved.MyCalanthe!”EistTuirseachsaidinthepauses
betweenkisses.
Thequeenopenedhereyesbutdidn’ttrytofreeherselffromhisembrace.
“Eist.Peoplearewatching,”shesaid.
“Letthemwatch.”
“Would somebody care to explain what that was?” asked Marshal
Vissegerd,crawlingfrombeneathafallentapestry.
“No,”saidthewitcher.
“Adoctor!”WindhalmofAttre,leaningoverRainfarn,shoutedshrilly.
“Water!” Wieldhill, one of the brothers from Strept, called, stifling the
smolderingtapestrywithhisjacket.“Water,quickly!”
“Andbeer!”Coodcoodakcroaked.
A few knights, still able to stand, were trying to lift Pavetta, but she
pushedtheirhandsaside,gotuponherownand,unsteadily,walkedtoward
the hearth. There, with his back resting against the wall, sat Urcheon,
awkwardlytryingtoremovehisblood-smearedarmor.
“The youth of today,” snorted Mousesack, looking in their direction.
“Theystartearly!They’veonlygotonethingontheirminds.”
“What’sthat?”
“Didn’t you know, witcher, that a virgin, that is one who’s untouched,
wouldn’tbeabletousetheForce?”
“Tohellwithhervirginity,”mutteredGeralt.“Where didshe getsucha
giftanyway?NeitherCalanthenorRoegner—”
“She inherited it, missing a generation,andno mistake,” said the druid.
“Her grandmother, Adalia, could raise a drawbridge with a twitch of her
eyebrows.Hey,Geralt,lookatthat!Shestillhasn’thadenough!”
Calanthe, supported by Eist Tuirseach’s arm, indicated the wounded
Urcheon to the guards. Geralt and Mousesack approached quickly but
unnecessarily. The guards recoiled from the semi-reclining figure and,
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whisperingandmuttering,backedaway.
Urcheon’smonstroussnoutsoftened,blurredandwasbeginningtoloseits
contours.Thespikesandbristlesrippledandbecameblack,shiny,wavyhair
andabeardwhichborderedapale,angular,masculineface,dominatedbya
prominentnose.
“What…”stammeredEistTuirseach.“Who’sthat?Urcheon?”
“Duny,”saidPavettasoftly.
Calantheturnedawaywithpursedlips.
“Cursed?”murmuredEist.“Buthow—”
“Midnight has struck,” said the witcher. “Just this minute. The bell we
heardbeforewasearly.Thebell-ringer’smistake.AmIright,Calanthe?”
“Right, right,” groaned the man called Duny, answering instead of the
queen, who had no intention of replying anyway. “But maybe instead of
standing there talking, someone could help me with this armor and call a
doctor.ThatmadmanRainfarnstabbedmeundertheribs.”
“Whatdoweneedadoctorfor?”saidMousesack,takingouthiswand.
“Enough.”Calanthestraightenedandraisedherheadproudly.“Enoughof
this.Whenallthisisover,Iwanttoseeyouinmychamber.Allofyou,as
youstand.Eist,Pavetta,Mousesack,Geraltandyou…Duny.Mousesack?”
“Yes,yourMajesty.”
“Thatwandofyours…I’vebruisedmybackbone.Andthereabouts.”
“Atyourcommand,yourMajesty.”
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III
“…acurse,”continuedDuny,rubbinghistemple.“Sincebirth.Ineverfound
areasonforit,orwhodidittome.Frommidnighttodawn,anordinaryman,
fromdawn…yousawwhat.Akerspaark,myfather,wantedtohideit.People
aresuperstitiousinMaecht;spellsandcursesintheroyalfamilycouldprove
fatalforthedynasty.Oneofmyfather’sknightstookmeawayfromcourtand
broughtmeup.Thetwoofuswanderedaroundtheworld—theknighterrant
andhissquire,andlater,whenhedied,Ijourneyedalone.Ican’tremember
whotoldmethatachild-surprisecouldfreemefromthecurse.Notlongafter
that,ImetRoegner.Therestyouknow.”
“Therestweknow,orcanguess.”Calanthenodded.“Especiallythatyou
didn’t wait the fifteen years agreed upon with Roegner but turned my
daughter’sheadbeforethat.Pavetta!Sincewhen?”
Theprincessloweredherheadandraisedafinger.
“There. You little sorceress. Right under my nose! Let me just find out
wholethimintothecastleatnight!Letmeattheladies-in-waitingyouwent
gatheringprimroseswith.Primroses,dammit!Well,whatamItodowithyou
now?”
“Calanthe—”beganEist.
“Hold on, Tuirseach. I haven’t finished yet. Duny, the matter’s become
verycomplicated.You’vebeenwithPavettaforayearnow,andwhat?And
nothing.Soyounegotiatedtheoathfromthewrongfather.Destinyhasmade
afoolofyou.Whatirony,asGeraltofRivia,presenthere,iswonttosay.”
“To hellwith destiny, oaths and irony.” Duny grimaced.“I lovePavetta
and she loves me; that’s all that counts. You can’t stand in the way of our
happiness.”
“I can, Duny, I can, and how.” Calanthe smiled one of her unfailing
smiles.“You’reluckyIdon’twantto.Ihaveacertaindebttowardyou,Duny.
I’dmadeupmymind…Ioughttoaskyourforgiveness,butIhatedoingthat.
SoI’mgivingyouPavettaandwe’llbequits.Pavetta?Youhaven’tchanged
yourmind,haveyou?”
Theprincessshookherheadeagerly.
“Thankyou,yourMajesty.Thankyou.”Dunysmiled.“You’reawiseand
generousqueen.”
“OfcourseIam.Andbeautiful.”
“Andbeautiful.”
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“You can both stay in Cintra if you wish. The people here are less
superstitious than the inhabitants of Maecht and adjust to things quicker.
Besides, even as Urcheon you were quite pleasant. But you can’t count on
havingthethronejustyet.Iintendtoreignalittlelongerbesidethenewking
ofCintra.ThenobleEistTuirseachofSkelligehasmademeaveryinteresting
proposition.”
“Calanthe—”
“Yes, Eist, I accept. I’ve never before listened to a confession of love
whilelyingontheflooramidstfragmentsofmyownthronebut…Howdid
youputit,Duny?ThisisallthatcountsandIdon’tadviseanyonetostandin
thewayofmyhappiness.Andyou,whatareyoustaringat?I’mnotasoldas
youthink.”
“Today’syouth,”mutteredMousesack.“Theappledoesn’tfallfar—”
“Whatareyoumuttering,sorcerer?”
“Nothing,ma’am.”
“Good. While we’re at it, I’ve got a proposition for you, Mousesack.
Pavetta’sgoingtoneedateacher.Sheoughttolearnhowtousehergift.Ilike
this castle, and I’d prefer it to remain standing. It might fall apart at my
talenteddaughter’snextattackofhysteria.Howaboutit,Druid?”
“I’mhonored.”
“I think”—the queen turned her head toward the window—it’s dawn.
Timeto—”
ShesuddenlyturnedtowherePavettaandDunywerewhisperingtoeach
other,holdinghands,theirforeheadsallbuttouching.
“Duny!”
“Yes,yourMajesty?”
“Doyouhear?It’sdawn!It’salreadylight.Andyou…”
GeraltglancedatMousesackandbothstartedlaughing.
“Andwhyareyousohappy,sorcerers?Can’tyousee—?”
“Wecan,wecan,”Geraltassuredher.
“Wewerewaitinguntilyousawforyourself,”snortedMousesack.“Iwas
wonderingwhenyou’dcatchon.”
“Towhat?”
“That you’ve lifted the curse. It’s you who’s lifted it,” said the witcher.
“Themomentyousaid‘I’mgivingyouPavetta,’destinywasfulfilled.”
“Exactly,”confirmedthedruid.
“Oh gods,” said Duny slowly. “So, finally. Damn, I thought I’d be
happier, that some sort of trumpets would play or… Force of habit. Your
150
Majesty!Thankyou.Pavetta,doyouhear?”
“Mhm,”saidtheprincesswithoutraisinghereyes.
“Andso,”sighedCalanthe, looking atGeraltwithtired eyes, “all’s well
that ends well. Don’t you agree, witcher? The curse has been lifted, two
weddingsareontheirway,it’lltakeaboutamonthtorepairthethrone-room,
there are four dead, countlesswounded andRain-farnof Attre is half-dead.
Let’s celebrate. Do you know, witcher, that there was a moment when I
wantedtohaveyou—”
“Iknow.”
“ButnowIhavetodoyoujustice.Idemandedaresultandgotone.Cintra
isalliedtoSkellige.Mydaughter’smarryingtherightman.ForamomentI
thoughtallthiswouldhavebeenfulfilledaccordingtodestinyanyway,even
ifIhadn’thadyoubroughtinforthefeastandsatyounexttome.ButIwas
wrong. Rainfarn’s dagger could have changed destiny. And Rainfarn was
stopped by a sword held by a witcher. You’ve done an honest job, Geralt.
Nowit’saquestionofprice.Tellmewhatyouwant.”
“Holdon,”saidDuny,fingeringhisbandagedside.“Aquestionofprice,
yousay.ItisIwhoamindebt;it’suptome—”
“Don’tinterrupt.”Calanthenarrowedhereyes.“Yourmother-in-lawhates
being interrupted. Remember that. And youshouldknow that you’re not in
any debt. It so happens that you were the subject of my agreement with
Geralt.Isaidwe’requitsandIdon’tseethesenseofmyhavingtoendlessly
apologizetoyouforit.Buttheagreementstillbindsme.Well,Geralt.Your
price.”
“Verywell,”saidthewitcher.“Iaskforyourgreensash,Calanthe.Mayit
alwaysremindmeofthecoloroftheeyesofthemostbeautifulqueenIhave
everknown.”
Calanthelaughed,andunfastenedheremeraldnecklace.
“This trinket,” she said, “has stones of the right hue. Keep it, and the
memory.”
“MayIspeak?”askedDunymodestly.
“Butofcourse,son-in-law,pleasedo,pleasedo.”
“IstillsayIaminyourdebt,witcher.ItismylifethatRainfarn’sdagger
endangered.Iwouldhavebeenbeatentodeathbytheguardswithoutyou.If
there’s talk of a price, then I should be the one to pay. I assure you I can
affordit.Whatdoyouask,Geralt?”
“Duny,”saidGeraltslowly,“awitcherwhoisaskedsuchaquestionhasto
asktohaveitrepeated.”
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“Irepeat,therefore.Because,yousee,Iaminyourdebtforstillanother
reason. When I foundout who you were,therein the hall, Ihatedyou and
thought very badly of you. I took you for a blind, bloodthirsty tool, for
someonewhokillscoldlyandwithoutquestion,whowipeshisbladecleanof
blood and counts the cash. But I’ve become convinced that the witcher’s
professionisworthyofrespect.Youprotectusnotonlyfromtheevillurking
inthedarkness,butalsofromthatwhichlieswithinourselves.It’sashame
therearesofewofyou.”
Calanthesmiled.
Forthefirsttimethatnight,Geraltwasinclinedtobelieveitwasgenuine.
“Myson-in-lawhasspokenwell.Ihavetoaddtwowordstowhathesaid.
Preciselytwo.Forgive,Geralt.”
“AndI,”saidDuny,“askagain.Whatdoyouaskfor?”
“Duny,” said Geralt seriously, “Calanthe, Pavetta. And you, righteous
knight Tuirseach, future king of Cintra. In order to become a witcher, you
have to be born in the shadow of destiny, and very few are born like that.
That’swhytherearesofewofus.We’regrowingold,dying,withoutanyone
topassourknowledge,ourgifts,onto.Welacksuccessors.Andthisworldis
fullofEvilwhichwaitsforthedaynoneofusareleft.”
“Geralt,”whisperedCalanthe.
“Yes,you’renotwrong,queen.Duny!Youwillgive methatwhichyou
alreadyhavebutdonotknow.I’llreturntoCintrainsixyearstoseeifdestiny
hasbeenkindtome.”
“Pavetta.”Dunyopenedhiseyeswide.“Surelyyou’renot—”
“Pavetta!”exclaimedCalanthe.“Areyou…areyou—?”
Theprincessloweredhereyesandblushed.Thenreplied.
152
THEVOICEOFREASON
153
I
“Geralt!Hey!Areyouthere?”
Heraisedhisheadfromthecoarse,yellowedpagesofTheHistoryofthe
WorldbyRoderickdeNovembre,aninterestingifcontroversialworkwhich
hehadbeenstudyingsincethepreviousday.
“Yes,Iam.What’shappened,Nenneke?Doyouneedme?”
“You’vegotaguest.”
“Again?Who’sitthistime?DukeHerewardhimself?”
“No.It’sDandilionthistime,yourfellow.Thatidler,parasiteandgood-
for-nothing, that priest of art, the bright-shining star of the ballad and love
poem. As usual, he’s radiant with fame, puffed up like a pig’s bladder and
stinkingofbeer.Doyouwanttoseehim?”
“Ofcourse.He’smyfriend,afterall.”
Nenneke, peeved, shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t understand that
friendship.He’syourabsoluteopposite.”
“Oppositesattract.”
“Obviously. There, he’s coming.” She indicated with her head. “Your
famouspoet.”
“Hereallyisafamouspoet,Nenneke.Surelyyou’renotgoingtoclaim
you’veneverheardhisballads.”
“I’veheardthem.”Thepriestesswinced.“Yes,indeed.Well,Idon’tknow
much about it, but maybe the ability to jump from touching lyricism to
obscenities so easily is a talent. Never mind. Forgive me, but I won’t keep
youcompany.I’mnotinthemoodforeitherhispoetryorhisvulgarjokes.”
Apealoflaughterandthestrummingofaluteresoundedinthecorridor
andthere,onthethresholdofthelibrary,stoodDandilioninalilacjerkinwith
lacecuffs,hishataskew.Thetroubadourbowedexaggeratedlyatthesightof
Nenneke,theheronfeatherpinnedtohishatsweepingthefloor.
“Mydeepestrespects,venerablemother,”hewhinedstupidly.“Praisebe
theGreatMeliteleandherpriestesses,thespringsofvirtueandwisdom—”
“Stoptalkingbullshit,”snortedNenneke.“Anddon’tcallmemother.The
veryideathatyoucouldbemysonfillsmewithhorror.”
Sheturnedonherheelandleft,hertrailingroberustling.Dandilion,aping
her,sketchedaparodybow.
“Shehasn’tchangedabit,”hesaidcheerfully.“Shestillcan’ttakeajoke.
She’s furious because I chatted a bit to the gatekeeper when I got here, a
154
prettyblondewithlonglashesandavirgin’splaitreachingdowntohercute
littlebottom,whichitwouldbeasinnottopinch.SoIdidandNenneke,who
hadjustarrived…Ah,whatthedeuce.Greetings,Geralt.”
“Greetings,Dandilion.HowdidyouknowIwashere?”
The poet straightened himself and yanked his trousers up. “I was in
Wyzim,” he said. “I heard about the striga, and that you were wounded. I
guessed where you would come to recuperate. I see you’re well now, are
you?”
“Youseecorrectly,buttryexplainingthattoNenneke.Sit,let’stalk.”
Dandilion sat andpeeped into the booklying on thelectern. “History?”
He smiled. “Roderick de Novembre? I’ve read him, I have. History was
secondonmylistoffavoritesubjectswhenIwasstudyingattheAcademyin
Oxenfurt.”
“Whatwasfirst?”
“Geography,” said the poet seriously. “The atlas was bigger and it was
easiertohideademijohnofvodkabehindit.”
Geralt laughed dryly, got up, removed Lunin and Tyrss’s The Arcane
Mysteries of Magic and Alchemy from the shelf and pulled a round-bellied
vesselwrappedinstrawfrombehindthebulkyvolumeandintothelightof
day.
“Oho.”Thebardvisiblycheeredup.“Wisdomandinspiration,Isee,are
stilltobefoundinlibraries.Oooh!Ilikethis!Plum,isn’tit?Yes,thisistrue
alchemy. This is a philosopher’s stone well worth studying. Your health,
brother.Ooooh,it’sstrongastheplague!”
“What brings you here?” Geralt took the demijohn over from the poet,
tookasipandstartedtocough,fingeringhisbandagedneck.“Whereareyou
going?”
“Nowhere. That is, I could go where you’re going. I could keep you
company.Doyouintendstayingherelong?”
“Notlong.ThelocaldukeletitbeknownI’mnotwelcome.”
“Hereward?”Dandilionknewallthekings,princes,lordsandfeudallords
from Jaruga to the Dragon Mountains. “Don’t you give a damn. He won’t
darefallfoulofNenneke,orMelitele.Thepeoplewouldsetfiretohiscastle.”
“Idon’twantanytrouble.AndI’vebeensittingherefortoolonganyway.
I’m going south, Dandilion. Far south. I won’t find any work here.
Civilization.Whatthehelldotheyneedawitcherherefor?WhenIaskafter
employment,theylookatmeasifI’mafreak.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Whatcivilization?IcrossedBuinaaweek
155
ago and heard all sorts of storiesas I rode through the country. Apparently
there are water sprites here, myriapodans, chimera, flying drakes, every
possiblefilth.Youshouldbeuptoyourearsinwork.”
“Stories, well, I’ve heard them too. Half of them are either made up or
exaggerated.No, Dandilion. The world is changing.Something’s coming to
anend.”
Thepoettookalongpullatthedemijohn,narrowedhiseyesandsighed
heavily. “Are you crying over your sad fate as a witcher again? And
philosophizing on top of that? I perceive the disastrous effects of
inappropriateliterature,becausethefactthattheworldischangingoccurred
eventothatoldfartRoderickdeNovembre.Thechangeabilityoftheworld
is,asithappens,theonlythesisinthistreatiseyoucanagreewith.Butit’snot
soinnovativeyouhavetoplymewithitandputonthefaceofagreatthinker
—whichdoesn’tsuityouintheleast.”
Insteadofanswering,Geralttookasipfromthedemijohn.
“Yes,yes,”sighedDandilionanew.“Theworldischanging,thesunsets,
andthevodkaiscomingtoanend.Whatelse,inyouropinion,iscomingto
anend?Youmentionedsomethingaboutendings,philosopher.”
“I’llgiveyouacoupleofexamples,”saidGeraltafteramoment’ssilence,
“allfromtwomonthsthissideoftheBuina.OnedayIrideupandwhatdoI
see?Abridge.Andunderthatbridgesitsatrollanddemandseverypasserby
payshim.Thosewhorefusehavealeginjured,sometimesboth.SoIgotothe
alderman:‘Howmuchwillyougivemeforthattroll?’He’samazed.‘What
areyoutalkingabout?’heasks.‘Whowillrepairthebridgeifthetroll’snot
there?Herepairsitregularlywiththesweatofhisbrow,solidwork,firstrate.
It’scheapertopayhistoll.’SoIrideon,andwhatdoIsee?Aforktail.Not
verybig,aboutfouryardsnose-tiptotail-tip.It’sflying,carryingasheepin
its talons. I go to the village. ‘How much,’ I ask, ‘will you pay me for the
forktail?’Thepeasantsfallontheirknees.‘No!’theyshout.‘It’sourbaron’s
youngestdaughter’sfavoritedragon.Ifascalefallsfromitsback,thebaron
will burn our hamlet, and skin us.’ I ride on, and I’m getting hungrier and
hungrier.Iaskaroundforwork.Certainlyit’sthere,butwhatwork?Tocatch
a rusalka for one man, a nymph foranother, a dryad for athird… They’ve
gone completely mad—the villages are teeming with girls but they want
humanoids.Anotherasksmetokillamecopteranandbringhimabonefrom
itshandbecause,crushedandpouredintoasoup,itcuresimpotence—”
“That’s rubbish,” interrupted Dandilion. “I’ve tried it. It doesn’t
strengthen anything andit makes the soup taste of oldsocks. But ifpeople
156
believeitandareinclinedtopay—”
“I’mnotgoingtokillmecopterans.Noranyotherharmlesscreatures.”
“Thenyou’llgohungry.Unlessyouchangeyourlineofwork.”
“Towhat?”
“Whatever. Become a priest. You wouldn’t be bad at it with all your
scruples,yourmorality,yourknowledgeofpeopleandofeverything.Thefact
that you don’t believe in any gods shouldn’t be a problem—I don’t know
manypriestswhodo.Becomeapriestandstopfeelingsorryforyourself.”
“I’mnotfeelingsorryformyself.I’mstatingthefacts.”
Dandilioncrossedhislegsandexaminedhiswornsolewithinterest.“You
remind me, Geralt, of an old fisherman who, toward the end of his life,
discoversthatfishstinkandthebreezefromtheseamakesyourbonesache.
Be consistent. Talking and regretting won’t get you anywhere. If I were to
findthatthedemandforpoetryhadcometoanend,I’dhangupmyluteand
becomeagardener.I’dgrowroses.”
“Nonsense.You’renotcapableofgivingitup.”
“Well,” agreed the poet, still staring at his sole, “maybe not. But our
professions differ somewhat. The demand for poetry and the sound of lute
stringswillneverdecline.It’sworsewithyourtrade.Youwitchers,afterall,
deprive yourselves of work, slowly but surely. The better and the more
conscientiouslyyouwork,thelessworkthereisforyou.Afterall,yourgoal
is a world without monsters, a world which is peaceful and safe. A world
wherewitchersareunnecessary.Aparadox,isn’tit?”
“True.”
“Inthepast,whenunicornsstillexisted,therewasquitealargegroupof
girlswhotookcareoftheirvirtueinordertobeableto huntthem.Doyou
remember?Andtheratcatcherswithpipes?Everybodywasfightingovertheir
services.Buttheywerefinishedoffbyalchemistsandtheireffectivepoisons
and then domesticated ferrets and weasels.The little animalswere cheaper,
niceranddidn’tguzzlesomuchbeer.Noticetheanalogy?”
“Ido.”
“So use other people’s experiences.The unicorn virgins,when they lost
theirjobs,immediatelypoppedtheircherry.Some,eagertomakeupforthe
yearsofsacrifice,becamefamousfarandwidefortheirtechniqueandzeal.
Theratcatchers…Well,you’dbetternotcopythem,becausethey,toaman,
tooktodrinkandwenttothedogs.Well,nowitlooksasifthetime’scome
forwitchers. You’rereadingRoderickdeNovembre?As farasI remember,
therearementionsofwitchersthere,ofthefirstoneswhostartedworksome
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threehundredyearsago.Inthedayswhenthepeasantsusedtogotoreapthe
harvestinarmedbands,whenvillagesweresurroundedbyatriplestockade,
whenmerchantcaravanslookedlikethemarchofregulartroops,andloaded
catapults stood on the ramparts of the few towns night and day. Because it
wasus,humanbeings,whoweretheintrudershere.Thislandwasruledby
dragons, manticores, griffins and amphisboenas, vampires and werewolves,
striga, kikimoras, chimeraand flying drakes. And this land had tobe taken
from them bit by bit, every valley, every mountain pass, every forest and
every meadow. And we didn’t manage that without the invaluable help of
witchers. But those times have gone, Geralt, irrevocably gone. The baron
won’t allow a fork-tail to be killed because it’s the last draconid for a
thousandmilesandnolongergivesrisetofearbutrathertocompassionand
nostalgia for times passed. The troll under the bridge gets on with people.
He’snotamonsterusedtofrightenchildren.He’sarelicandalocalattraction
—andausefuloneatthat.Andchimera,manticoresandamphisboenas?They
dwellinvirginforestsandinaccessiblemountains—”
“SoIwasright.Something is coming to anend.Whetheryoulikeitor
not,something’scomingtoanend.”
“Idon’tlikeyoumouthingbanalplatitudes.Idon’tlikeyourexpression
whenyoudoit.What’shappeningtoyou?Idon’trecognizeyou,Geralt.Ah,
plague on it, let’s go south assoon as possible,to those wild countries. As
soonasyou’vecutdownacoupleofmonsters,yourblueswilldisappear.And
there’ssupposedtobeafairnumberofmonstersdownthere.They saythat
when an old woman’s tired of life, she goes alone and weaponless into the
woods to collect brushwood. The consequences are guaranteed. You should
goandsettlethereforgood.”
“MaybeIshould.ButIwon’t.”
“Why?It’seasierforawitchertomakemoneythere.”
“Easiertomakemoney.”Geralttookasipfromthedemijohn.“Butharder
tospendit.Andontopofthat,theyeatpearlbarleyandmillet,thebeertastes
likepiss,thegirlsdon’twashandthemosquitoesbite.”
Dandilionchuckled loudlyandrested hisheadagainst thebookshelf,on
theleather-boundvolumes.
“Milletandmosquitoes!Thatremindsmeofourfirstexpeditiontogether
totheedgeoftheworld,”hesaid.“Doyouremember?Wemetatthefêtein
Guletandyoupersuadedme—”
“You persuaded me! You had to flee from Gulet as fast as your horse
could carry you because the girl you’d knocked up under the musicians’
158
podium had four sturdy brothers. Theywere lookingfor you allover town,
threateningtogeldyouandcoveryouinpitchandsawdust.That’swhyyou
hungontomethen.”
“Andyoualmostjumpedoutofyourpantswithjoytohaveacompanion.
Untilthen,youonlyhadyourhorseforcompany.Butyou’reright;itwasas
yousay.Ididhavetodisappearforawhile,andtheValleyofFlowersseemed
just right for my purpose. It was, after all, supposed to be the edge of the
inhabited world, the last outpost of civilization, the furthest point on the
borderoftwoworlds…Remember?”
“Iremember.”
159
THEEDGEOFTHEWORLD
160
I
Dandilion came down the steps of the inn carefully, carrying two tankards
drippingwithfroth.Cursingunderhisbreath,hesqueezedthroughagroupof
curiouschildrenandcrossedtheyardatadiagonal,avoidingthecowpats.
A number of villagers had already gathered round the table in the
courtyard where the witcher was talking to the alderman. The poet set the
tankards down and found a seat. He realized straight away that the
conversationhadn’tadvancedajotduringhisshortabsence.
“I’mawitcher,sir,”Geraltrepeatedfortheumpteenthtime,wipingbeer
frothfromhislips.“Idon’tsellanything.Idon’tgoaroundenlistingmenfor
thearmyandIdon’tknowhowtotreatglanders.I’mawitcher.”
“It’s a profession,” explained Dandilion yet again. “A witcher, do you
understand?Hekillsstrigasandspecters.Heexterminatesallsortsofvermin.
Professionally,formoney.Doyougetit,alderman?”
“Aha!”Thealderman’sbrow,deeplyfurrowedinthought,grewsmoother.
“Awitcher!Youshouldhavesaidsorightaway!”
“Exactly,” agreed Geralt. “So nowI’ll ask you:is there anywork to be
foundaroundhereforme?”
“Aaaa.”Thealdermanquitevisiblystartedtothinkagain.“Work?Maybe
those… Well… werethings? You’re asking are there any werethings
hereabouts?”
The witcher smiled and nodded, rubbing an itching eyelid with his
knuckles.
“Thatthereare,”thealdermanconcludedafterafairwhile.“Onlylookye
yonder, see ye those mountains? There’s elves live there; that there is their
kingdom.Theirpalaces,hearye,areallofpuregold.Ohaye,sir!Elves,Itell
ye.‘Tisawful.Hewhoyondergoes,neverreturns.”
“Ithoughtso,”saidGeraltcoldly.“WhichispreciselywhyIdon’tintend
goingthere.”
Dandilionchuckledimpudently.
Thealdermanponderedalongwhile,justasGeralthadexpected.
“Aha,”hesaidatlast.“Well,aye.Buttherebeotherwerethingsheretoo.
Fromthelandofelvestheycome,tobesure.Oh,sir,therebemany,many.
‘Tishardto countthemall.Buttheworst,that betheBane,amI right,my
goodmen?”
The“goodmen”cametolifeandbesiegedthetablefromallsides.
161
“Bane!” said one. “Aye, aye, ‘tis true what the alderman says. A pale
virgin,shewalksthecottagesatdaybreak,andthechildren,theydie!”
“Andimps,”addedanother,asoldierfromthewatchtower.“Theytangle
upthehorses’manesinthestables!”
“Andbats!Therebebatshere!”
“Andmyriapodans!Youcomeupallinspotsbecauseofthem!”
Thenext fewminutespassed inarecitalofthemonsterswhichplagued
the local peasants with their dishonorable doings, or their simpleexistence.
Geralt and Dandilion learned of misguids and mamunes, which prevent an
honestpeasantfromfindinghiswayhomeinadrunkenstupor,oftheflying
drakewhichdrinksmilkfromcows,oftheheadonspider’slegswhichruns
aroundintheforest,ofhoboldswhichwearredhatsandaboutadangerous
pike which tears linen from women’s hands as they wash it—and just you
waitandit’llbeatthewomenthemselves.Theyweren’tsparedhearingthat
oldNantheHagfliesonabroomatnightandperformsabortionsintheday,
thatthemillertamperswiththeflourbymixingitwithpowderedacornsand
thatacertainDudabelievedtheroyalstewardtobeathiefandscoundrel.
Geraltlistenedtoallthiscalmly,noddingwithfeignedinterest,andasked
a few questions about theroads andlayoutof the land, after whichhe rose
andnoddedtoDandilion.
“Well,takecare,mygoodpeople,”hesaid.“I’llbebacksoon;thenwe’ll
seewhatcanbedone.”
Theyrodeawayinsilencealongsidethecottagesandfences,accompanied
byyappingdogsandscreamingchildren.
“Geralt,”saidDandilion,standinginthestirrupstopickafineapplefrom
a branch which stretched over the orchard fence, “all the way you’ve been
complainingaboutitbeingharderandhardertofind work.YetfromwhatI
just heard, it looks as if you could work here without break until winter.
You’d make a penny or two, and I’d have some beautiful subjects for my
ballads.Soexplainwhywe’reridingon.”
“Iwouldn’tmakeapenny,Dandilion.”
“Why?”
“Becausetherewasn’tawordoftruthinwhattheysaid.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Noneofthecreaturestheymentionedexist.”
“You’rejoking!”Dandilionspatoutapip and threw the apple core at a
patchedmongrel.“No,it’simpossible.Iwaswatchingthemcarefully,andI
knowpeople.Theyweren’tlying.”
162
“No,”thewitcheragreed.“Theyweren’tlying.Theyfirmlybelieveditall.
Whichdoesn’tchangethefacts.”
Thepoetwassilentforawhile.
“None of those monsters… None? It can’t be. Something of what they
listedmustbehere.Atleastone!Admitit.”
“Allright.Iadmitit.Onedoesexistforsure.”
“Ha!What?”
“Abat.”
They rode out beyond the last fences, on to a highway between beds
yellowwithoilseedandcornfieldsrollinginthewind.Loadedcartstraveled
past them in the opposite direction. The bard pulled his leg over the
saddlebow,restedhisluteonhiskneeandstrummednostalgictunes,waving
fromtimetotimeatthegiggling,scantilycladgirlswanderingalongthesides
oftheroadcarryingrakesontheirrobustshoulders.
“Geralt,”hesaidsuddenly,“butmonstersdoexist.Maybenotasmanyas
before, maybe they don’t lurk behind every tree in the forest, but they are
there. They exist. So how do you account for people inventing ones, then?
What’s more, believing in what they invent? Eh, famous witcher? Haven’t
youwonderedwhy?”
“Ihave,famouspoet.AndIknowwhy.”
“I’mcurious.”
“People”—Geralt turned his head—“like to invent monsters and
monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get
blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat theirwives, starve an old woman, when they
killatrappedfoxwithanaxeorriddlethelastexistingunicornwitharrows,
they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more
monstrousthantheyare.Theyfeelbetterthen.Theyfinditeasiertolive.”
“I’llremember that,”saidDandilion, afteramoment’ssilence. “I’llfind
somerhymesandcomposeaballadaboutit.”
“Do.Butdon’texpectagreatapplause.”
Theyrodeslowlybutlostthelastcottagesofthehamletfromsight.Soon
theyhadclimbedtherowofforestedhills.
“Ha.”Dandilionhaltedhishorseandlookedaround.“Look,Geralt.Isn’t
itbeautifulhere?Idyllic,damnit.Afeastfortheeyes!”
Thelandslopedgentlydowntoamosaicofflat,evenfieldspickedoutin
variouslycoloredcrops.Inthemiddle,roundandregularlikealeafofclover,
sparkled the deep waters of three lakes surrounded by dark strips of alder
thickets. The horizon was traced by a misty blue line of mountains rising
163
abovetheblack,shapelessstretchofforest.
“We’reridingon,Dandilion.”
Theroadledstraighttowardthelakesalongsidedykesandpondshidden
by alder trees and filled with quacking mallards, garganeys, herons and
grebes.Therichnessofbirdlifewassurprisingalongsidethesignsofhuman
activity—the dykes were well maintained and covered with fascines, while
thesluicegateshadbeenreinforcedwithstonesandbeams.Theoutletboxes,
which were not in the least rotten, trickled merrily with water. Canoes and
jettieswerevisibleinthereedsbythelakesandbarsofsetnetsandfish-pots
werepokingoutofthedeepwaters.
Dandilionsuddenlylookedaround.
“Someone’sfollowingus,”hesaid,excited.“Inacart!”
“Incredible,”scoffedthewitcherwithoutlookingaround.“Inacart?And
Ithoughtthatthelocalsrodeonbats.”
“Doyouknowwhat?”growledthetroubadour.“Thecloserwegettothe
edgeoftheworld,thesharperyourwit.Idreadtothinkwhatitwillcometo!”
Theyweren’tridingfastandtheemptycart,drawnbytwopiebaldhorses,
quicklycaughtupwiththem.
“Woooooaaaaahhhh!”Thedriverbroughtthehorsestoahaltjustbehind
them. He was wearing a sheepskin over his bare skin and his hair reached
downtohisbrows.“Thegodsbepraised,noblesirs!”
“We,too,”repliedDandilion,familiarwiththecustom,“praisethem.”
“Ifwewantto,”murmuredthewitcher.
“IcallmyselfNettly,”announcedthecarter.“Iwaswatchingyespeakto
thealdermanatUpperPosada.Iknowyetaebeawitcher.”
Geraltletgoofthereinsandlethismaresnortattheroadsidenettles.
“Ididhear,”Nettlycontinued,“thealdermanprattleyestories.Imarked
your expression and ‘twas nae strange to me. In a long time now I’ve nae
heardsuchbalderdashandlies.”
Dandilionlaughed.
Geraltwaslookingatthepeasantattentively,silently.
Nettlyclearedhisthroat.“Careyenaetobehiredforreal,properwork,
sir?”heasked.“There’dbesomethingIhaveforye.”
“Andwhatisthat?”
Nettlydidn’tlowerhiseyes.“Itbenaegoodtospeakofbusinessonthe
road. Let us drive on to my home, to Lower Posada. There we’ll speak.
Anyways,‘tisthatwayyebeheading.”
“Whyareyousosure?”
164
“As‘cosyehavenaeotherwayhere,andyerhorses’nosesbeturnedin
thatdirection,nottheirbutts.”
Dandilionlaughedagain.“Whatdoyousaytothat,Geralt?”
“Nothing,”saidthewitcher.“It’snogoodtotalkontheroad.Onourway,
then,honorableNettly.”
“Tie ye thehorsestotheframe,and sit yerselves down in thecart,”the
peasantproposed.“Itbemorecomfortableforye.Whyrackyerarsesonthe
saddle?”
“Tootrue.”
Theyclimbedontothecart.Thewitcherstretchedoutcomfortablyonthe
straw.Dandilion,evidentlyafraidofgettinghiselegantgreenjerkindirty,sat
ontheplank.Nettlycluckedhistongueatthehorsesandthevehicleclattered
alongthebeam-reinforceddyke.
They crossed a bridge over a canal overgrown with water lilies and
duckweed,andpassedastripofcutmeadows.Cultivatedfieldsstretchedas
farastheeyecouldsee.
“It’shardtobelievethatthisshouldbetheedgeoftheworld,theedgeof
civilization,”saidDandilion.“Justlook,Geralt.Ryelikegold,andamounted
peasantcouldhideinthatcorn.Orthatoilseed,look,howenormous.”
“Youknowaboutagriculture?”
“We poets have to know about everything,” said Dandilion haughtily.
“Otherwise we’d compromise our work. One has to learn, my dear fellow,
learn. The fate of the world depends on agriculture, so it’s good to know
about it. Agriculture feeds, clothes, protects from the cold, provides
entertainmentandsupportsart.”
“You’veexaggeratedabitwiththeentertainmentandart.”
“Andbooze,what’sthatmadeof?”
“Igetit.”
“Notverymuch,youdon’t.Learn.Lookatthosepurpleflowers.They’re
lupins.”
“They’s be vetch, to be true,” interrupted Nettly. “Have ye nae seen
lupins,orwhat? Butyehavehitexact withonething,sir.Everythingseeds
mightilyhere,andgrowsastomaketheheartsing.Thatbewhy‘tiscalledthe
ValleyofFlowers.Thatbewhyourforefatherssettledhere,firstriddingthe
landoftheelves.”
“The Valley of Flowers, that’s Dol Blathanna.” Dandilion nudged the
witcher, who was stretched out on the straw, with his elbow. “You paying
attention?Theelveshavegonebuttheirnameremains.Lackofimagination.
165
Andhowdoyougetonwiththeelveshere,dearhost?You’vegottheminthe
mountainsacrossthepath,afterall.”
“Wenaemixwitheachother.Eachtohisown.”
“Thebestsolution,”saidthepoet.“Isn’tthatright,Geralt?”
Thewitcherdidn’treply.
166
II
“Thankyouforthespread.”Geraltlickedthebonespooncleananddroppedit
intotheemptybowl.“Ahundredthanks,dearhost.Andnow,ifyoupermit,
we’llgetdowntobusiness.”
“Well,thatwecan,”agreedNettly.“Whatsayye,Dhun?”
Dhun,theelderofLowerPosada,ahugemanwithagloomyexpression,
noddedtothegirlswhoswiftlyremovedthedishesfromthetableandleftthe
room,totheobviousregretofDandilionwhohadbeengrinningatthemever
sincethefeastbegan,andmakingthemgiggleathisgrossjokes.
“I’m listening,” said Geralt, looking at the window from where the
rappingofanaxeandthesoundofasawdrifted.Somesortofwoodworkwas
goingonintheyardandthesharp,resinoussmellwaspenetratingtheroom.
“TellmehowIcanbeofusetoyou.”
NettlyglancedatDhun.
The elder of the village nodded and cleared his throat. “Well, it be like
this,”hesaid.“Therebethisfieldhereabouts—”
GeraltkickedDandilion—whowaspreparingtomakeaspitefulcomment
—underthetable.
“—afield,” continuedDhun.“Be Iright,Nettly?A longtime,thatfield
there, it lay fallow, but we set it to the plough and now, ‘tis on it we sow
hemp,hopsandflax.Itbeagrandpieceoffield,Itellye.Stretchesrightupto
theforest—”
“Andwhat?”Thepoetcouldn’thelphimself.“What’sonthatfieldthere?”
“Well.”Dhunraisedhisheadandscratchedhimselfbehindtheear.“Well,
therebeadeovelprowlsthere.”
“What?”snortedDandilion.“Awhat?”
“Itellye:adeovel.”
“Whatdeovel?”
“Whatcanhebe?Adeovelandthatbeit.”
“Devilsdon’texist!”
“Don’t interrupt, Dandilion,” said Geralt in a calm voice. “And go on,
honorableDhun.”
“Itellye:it’sadeovel.”
“Iheardyou.”Geraltcouldbeincrediblypatientwhenhechose.“Tellme,
whatdoeshelooklike, where did he come from,howdoeshebotheryou?
Onethingatatime,ifyouplease.”
167
“Well”—Dhun raised his gnarled hand and started to count with great
difficulty, folding his fingers over, one at a time—“one thing at a time.
Forsooth,yebeawiseman.Well,itbelikethis.Helooks,sir,likeadeovel,
for all the world like a deovel. Where did he come from? Well, nowhere.
Crash,bang,wallopandtherewehavehim:adeovel.Andbotherus,forsooth
hedoesnaebotherusoverly.Therebetimesheevenhelps.”
“Helps?” cackled Dandilion, trying to remove a fly from his beer. “A
devil?”
“Don’tinterrupt,Dandilion.Carryon,Dhun,sir.Howdoeshehelpyou,
this,asyousay—”
“Deovel,” repeated the freeman with emphasis. “Well, this be how he
helps:hefertilizestheland,heturnsthesoil,hegetsridofthemoles,scares
birds away, watches over the turnips and beetroots. Oh, and he eats the
caterpillarshedoes,theyas do hatch in the cabbages. But the cabbages, he
eats them too, forsooth. Nothing but guzzle, be what he does. Just like a
deovel.”
Dandilioncackledagain,thenflickedabeer-drenchedflyatacatsleeping
bythehearth.Thecatopenedoneeyeandglancedatthebardreproachfully.
“Nevertheless,” the witcher saidcalmly, “you’re readyto pay meto get
ridofhim,amIright?Inotherwords,youdon’twanthiminthevicinity?”
“And who”—Dhun looked at him gloomily—“would care to have a
deovelonhisbirthrightsoil?Thisbeourlandsinceforever,bestoweduponus
by the king and it has nought to do with the deovel. We spit on his help.
We’vegot handsourselves,havewenot?Andhe,sir, isnay adeovelbuta
maliciousbeastandhasgotsomuch,forgivetheword,shiteinhisheadasbe
hard to bear. There be no knowing what will come into his head. Once he
fouledthewell,thenchasedalass,frighteningandthreateningtofuckher.He
steals,sir,ourbelongingsandvictuals.Hedestroysandbreaksthings,makes
a nuisance of himself, churns the dykes, digs ditches like some muskrat or
beaver—thewaterfromonepondtrickledoutcompletelyand the carp in it
died.Hesmokedapipeinthehaystackhedid,theson-of-a-whore,andallthe
hayitwentupinsmoke—”
“Isee,”interruptedGeralt.“Sohedoesbotheryou.”
“Nay.”Dhunshookhishead.“Hedoesnaebotherus.Hebesimplyupto
mischief,that’swhathebe.”
Dandilionturnedtothewindow,mufflinghislaughter.
Thewitcherkeptsilent.
“Oh,whatbetheretotalk about,” said Nettly who had been silent until
168
then.“Yebeawitcher,nae?Sodoyesomethingaboutthisdeovel.Itbework
yebelookingforinUpperPosada.Iheardsomyself.Soyehavework.We’ll
payyewhatneedsbe.Buttakenote:wedon’twantyekillingthedeovel.No
way.”
The witcher raised his head and smiled nastily. “Interesting,” he said.
“Unusual,I’dsay.”
“What?”Dhunfrowned.
“Anunusualcondition.Whyallthismercy?”
“He should nae be killed.” Dhun frowned even more. “Because in this
Valley—”
“Heshouldnaeandthatbeit,”interruptedNettly.“Onlycatchhim,sir,or
drivehimoffyono’ertheseventhmountain.Andyewillnaebeharddoneby
whenyebepaid.”
Thewitcherstayedsilent,stillsmiling.
“Sealit,willye,thedeal?”askedDhun.
“First,I’dlikealookathim,thisdevilofyours.”
Thefreemenglancedateachother.
“Itbeyerright,”saidNettly,thenstoodup.“Andyerwill.Thedeovelhe
doprowlthewholeneighborhoodatnightbutatdayhedwellssomewherein
thehemp.Oramongtheoldwillowsonthemarshland.Yecantakealookat
him there. We won’t hasten ye. Ye be wanting rest, then rest as long as ye
will. Ye will nae go wanting in comfort and food as befits the custom of
hospitality.Takecare.”
“Geralt.”Dandilionjoltedupfromhisstoolandlookedoutintotheyard
atthefreemenwalkingawayfromthecottage.“I can’tunderstandanything
anymore.Adayhasn’tgonebysinceourchataboutimaginedmonstersand
you suddenly get yourself hired hunting devils. And everybody—except
ignorant freemen obviously—knows that devils are an invention; they’re
mythicalcreatures.What’sthisunexpectedzealofyourssupposedtomean?
KnowingyoualittleasIdo,Itakeityouhaven’tabasedyourselfsoastoget
usbed,boardandlodging,haveyou?”
“Indeed.” Geralt grimaced. “It does look as if you know me a little,
singer.”
“Inthatcase,Idon’tunderstand.”
“Whatistheretounderstand?”
“There’snosuchthingsasdevils!”yelledthepoet,shakingthecatfrom
sleep once and for all. “No such thing! To the devil with it, devils don’t
exist!”
169
“True.”Geraltsmiled.“But,Dandilion,Icouldneverresistthetemptation
ofhavingalookatsomethingthatdoesn’texist.”
170
III
“One thing is certain,” muttered the witcher, sweeping his eyes over the
tangledjungleofhempspreadingbeforethem.“Thisdevilisnotstupid.”
“Howdidyoudeducethat?”Dandilionwascurious.“Fromthefact that
he’s sittingin an impenetrablethicket? Any old hare has enough brains for
that.”
“It’saquestionofthespecialqualitiesofhemp.Afieldofthissizeemitsa
strongauraagainstmagic.Mostspellswillbeuselesshere.Andthere,look,
doyouseethosepoles?Thosearehops—theirpollenhasthesameeffect.It’s
notmerechance.Therascalsensestheauraandknowshe’ssafehere.”
Dandilioncoughedandadjustedhisbreeches.“I’mcurious.”Hescratched
hisforeheadbeneathhishat.“Howareyougoingtogoaboutit,Geralt?I’ve
neverseenyouwork.Itakeityouknowathingortwoaboutcatchingdevils
—I’m trying to recall some ballads. There was one about a devil and a
woman.Rude,butamusing.Thewoman,yousee—”
“Spareme,Dandilion.”
“Asyouwish.Ionlywantedtobehelpful,that’sall.Andyoushouldn’t
scornancientsongs.There’swisdominthem,accumulatedovergenerations.
There’saballadaboutafarmhandcalledSlow,who—”
“Stopwittering.Wehavetoearnourboardandlodging.”
“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”
“Rummagearoundabitinthehemp.”
“That’soriginal,”snortedthetroubadour.“Thoughnottoorefined.”
“Andyou,howwouldyougoaboutit?”
“Intelligently.” Dandilion sniffed. “Craftily. With a hounding, for
example.I’dchasethedeviloutofthethicket,chasehimonhorseback,inthe
openfield,andlassohim.Whatdoyouthinkofthat?”
“Interesting. Who knows, maybe it could be done, if you took part—
becauseatleasttwoofusareneededforanenterpriselikethat.Butwe’renot
goinghuntingyet.Iwanttofindoutwhatthisthingis,thisdevil.That’swhy
I’mgoingtorummageaboutinthehemp.”
“Hey!” The bard had only just noticed. “You haven’t brought your
sword!”
“Whatfor?Iknowsomeballadsaboutdevils,too.Neitherthewomannor
Slowthefarmhandusedasword.”
“Hmm…”Dandilionlookedaround.“Dowehavetosqueezethroughthe
171
verymiddleofthisthicket?”
“Youdon’thaveto.Youcangobacktothevillageandwaitforme.”
“Oh,no,”protestedthepoet.“Andmissachancelikethis?Iwanttoseea
deviltoo,seeifhe’sasterribleastheyclaim.Iwasaskingifwehavetoforce
ourwaythroughthehempwhenthere’sapath.”
“Quiteright.”Geraltshadedhiseyeswithhishand.“Thereisapath.So
let’suseit.”
“Andwhatifit’sthedevil’spath?”
“Allthebetter.Wewon’thavetowalktoofar.”
“Doyouknow,Geralt,”babbledthebard,followingthewitcheralongthe
narrow,unevenpathamongthehemp.“Ialwaysthoughtthedevilwasjusta
metaphorinventedforcursing:‘gotothedevil’,‘tothedevilwithit’,‘may
thedevil.’Lowlanderssay:‘Thedevilsarebringingusguests,’whiledwarves
have‘Duvvelhoael’whentheygetsomethingwrong,andcallpoor-blooded
livestockdevvelsheyss.AndintheOldLanguage,there’sasaying,‘Ad’yaebl
aeparse,’whichmeans—”
“Iknowwhatitmeans.You’rebabbling,Dandilion.”
Dandilion stopped talking, took off the hat decorated with a heron’s
feather,fannedhimselfwithitandwipedhissweatybrow.Thehumid,stifling
heat,intensifiedbythesmellofgrassandweedsinblossom, dominatedthe
thicket.Thepathcurvedalittleand,justbeyondthebend,endedinasmall
clearingwhichhadbeenstampedintheweeds.
“Look,Dandilion.”
In the very centerof the clearing lay alarge,flat stone, and onit stood
several clay bowls. An almost burnt-out tallow candle was set among the
bowls. Geralt saw some grains of corn and broad beans among the
unrecognizablepipsandseedsstuckintheflakesofmeltedfat.
“AsIsuspected,”hemuttered.“They’rebringinghimofferings.”
“That’s just it,” said the poet, indicating the candle. “And they burn a
tallowcandleforthedevil.Butthey’refeedinghimseeds,Isee,asifhewere
afinch.Plague,whatabloodypigsty.Everythinghereisallstickywithhoney
andbirchtar.What—“Thebard’snextwordsweredrownedbyaloud,sinister
bleating. Something rustled and stamped in the hemp; then the strangest
creatureGeralthadeverseenemergedfromthethicket.
Thecreaturewasabouthalfarodtallwithbulgingeyesandagoat’shorns
andbeard.Themouth,asoft,busyslit,alsobroughtachewinggoattomind.
Itsnetherregionswerecoveredwithlong,thick,dark-redhairrightdownto
theclefthooves.Thedevilhadalongtailendinginabrush-liketasselwhich
172
waggedenergetically.
“Uk!Uk!”barkedthemonster,stampinghishooves.“Whatdoyouwant
here?Leave!LeaveorI’llramyoudown.Uk!Uk!”
“Hasanyoneeverkickedyourarse,littlegoat?”Dandilioncouldn’tstop
himself.
“Uk! Uk! Beeeeee!” bleated the goathorn in agreement, or denial, or
simplybleatingforthesakeofit.
“Shutup,Dandilion,”growledthewitcher.“Notaword.”
“Blebleblebeeeee!”Thecreaturegurgledfuriously,hislipspartingwideto
exposeyellowhorse-liketeeth.“Uk!Uk!Bleubeeeeubleuuuuubleeeeeeee!”
“Mostcertainly”—noddedDandilion—“youcantakethebarrel-organand
bellwhenyougohome—”
“Stop it, damnyou,” hissed Geralt. “Keepyour stupid jokesto yourself
—”
“Jokes!” roared the goathorn loudly and leapt up. “Jokes? New jokers
havecome,have they? They’vebroughtironballs, have they?I’llgiveyou
ironballs,youscoundrels,you.Uk!Uk!Uk!Youwanttojoke,doyou?Here
aresomejokesforyou!Hereareyourballs!”
Thecreaturesprangupandgaveasuddenswipewithhishand.Dandilion
howled and sat down hard on the path, clasping his forehead. The creature
bleatedandaimedagain.SomethingwhizzedpastGeralt’sear.
“Hereareyourballs!Brrreee!”
An iron ball, an inch in diameter, thwacked the witcher in the shoulder
andthenexthitDandilionintheknee.Thepoetcursedfoullyandscrambled
away,Geraltrunningafterhimasballswhizzedabovehishead.
“Uk! Uk!” screamed the goathorn, leaping up and down. “I’ll give you
balls!Youshittyjokers!”
Anotherballwhizzedthroughtheair.Dandilioncursedevenmorefoully
ashegrabbedthebackofhishead.Geraltthrewhimselftooneside,among
thehemp,butdidn’tavoidtheballthathithimintheshoulder.Thegoathorn’s
aimwastrueandheappearedtohaveanendlesssupplyofballs.Thewitcher,
stumbling through the thicket, heard yet another triumphant bleat from the
victoriousgoathorn,followedbythewhistleofaflyingball,acurseandthe
patterofDandilion’sfeetscurryingawayalongthepath.
Andthensilencefell.
173
174
IV
“Well,well,Geralt.”Dandilionheldahorseshoehe’dcooledinabucketto
hisforehead.“That’snotwhatIexpected.Ahornedfreakwithagoateelikea
shaggybillygoat,andhechasedyouawaylikesomeupstart.AndIgotitin
thehead.Lookatthatbump!”
“That’sthesixthtimeyou’veshownittome.Andit’snomoreinteresting
nowthanitwasthefirsttime.”
“Howcharming.AndIthoughtI’dbesafewithyou!”
“Ididn’taskyoutotraipseaftermeinthehemp,andIdidaskyoutokeep
thatfoul tongueofyoursquiet.Youdidn’tlisten, sonowyoucansuffer.In
silence,please,becausethey’rejustcoming.”
NettlyandDhunwalkedintothedayroom.Behindthemhobbledagray-
hairedoldwoman,twistedasapretzel,ledbyafair-hairedandpainfullythin
teenagegirl.
“Honorable Dhun, honorable Nettly,” the witcher began without
introduction.“Iaskedyou,beforeIleft,whetheryouyourselveshadalready
triedtodosomethingwiththatdevilofyours.Youtoldmeyouhadn’t*done
anything.I’vegroundstothinkotherwise.Iawaityourexplanation.”
The villagers murmured among themselves, after which Dhun coughed
intohisfistandtookastepforward.“Yeberight,sir.Askingforgiveness.We
lied—it be guilt devours us. We wanted to outwit the deovel ourselves, for
himtogoaway—”
“Bywhatmeans?”
“Here in this Valley,” said Dhun slowly, “therebe monsters inthe past.
Flying dragons, earth myriapodans, were-brawls, ghosts, gigantous spiders
andvariousvipers.Andallthetimeswebesearchinginourgreatbookefora
waytodealwithallthatvermin.”
“Whatgreatbook?”
“Showthebooke,oldwoman.Booke,Isay.Thegreatbooke!I’llbeon
theboilinaminute!Deafasadoorknob,shebe!Lille,telltheoldwomanto
showthebooke!”
Thegirltorethehugebookfromthetalonedfingersoftheoldwomanand
handedittothewitcher.
“Inthisheregreatbooke,”continuedDhun,“whichbeinourfamilyclan
fortimeimmemorial,bewaystodealwitheverymonster,spellandwonderin
theworldthathasbeen,is,orwillbe.”
175
Geraltturnedtheheavy,thick,greasy,dust-encrustedvolumeinhishands.
Thegirlwasstillstandinginfrontofhim,wringingheraproninherhands.
Shewasolderthanhehadinitiallythought—herdelicatefigurehaddeceived
him,sodifferentfromtherobustbuildoftheothergirlsinthevillage.
He lay the book down on thetable and turned its heavy wooden cover.
“Takealookatthis,Dandilion.”
“The first Runes,” the bard worked out, peering over his shoulder, the
horseshoestillpressedtohisforehead.“Thewritingusedbeforethemodern
alphabet.Stillbasedonelfinrunesanddwarves’ideograms.Afunnysentence
construction, but that’s how they spoke then. Interesting etchings and
illuminations.It’snotoftenyougettoseesomethinglikethis,Geralt,andif
youdo, it’s inlibrariesbelongingtotemplesandnotvillagesatthe edgeof
theworld.Byallthegods,wheredidyougetthatfrom,dearpeasants?Surely
you’renotgoingtotrytoconvincemethatyoucanreadthis?Woman?Can
youreadtheFirstRunes?Canyoureadanyrunes?”
“Whaaaat?”
Thefair-hairedgirlmovedclosertothewomanandwhisperedsomething
intoherear.
“Read?” The crony revealed her toothless gums in a smile. “Me? No,
sweetheart.‘TisaskillI’vene’ermastered.”
“Explaintome,”saidGeraltcoldly,turningtoDhunandNettly,“howdo
youusethebookifyoucan’treadrunes?”
“Alwaystheoldestwomanknowswhatstandswritteninthebooke,”said
Dhungloomily.“Andwhatsheknows,sheteachessomeyoungone,when‘tis
time for her to turn to earth. Heed ye, yerselves, how ‘tis time for our old
woman.SoouroldwomanhastakenLilleinandshebeteachingher.Butfor
now,‘tistheoldwomanknowsbest.”
“Theoldwitchandtheyoungwitch,”mutteredDandilion.
“The old woman knows the whole book by heart?” Geralt asked with
disbelief.“Isthatright,Grandma?”
“Naethewhole,ohnae,”answeredthewoman,againthroughLille,“only
whatstandswrittenbythepicture.”
“Ah.” Geralt opened the book at random. The picture on the torn page
depictedadappledpigwithhornsintheshapeofalyre.“Wellthen—what’s
writtenhere?”
Theoldwomansmackedherlips,tookacarefullookattheetching,then
shuthereyes.
“ThehornedaurochsorTaurus,”sherecited,“erroneouslycalledbisonby
176
ignoramuses.Ithathhornsanduseththemtoram—”
“Enough. Very good, indeed.” The witcher turned several sticky pages.
“Andhere?”
“Cloud sprites and wind sprites be varied. Some rain pour, some wind
roar,andothershurltheirthunder.Harveststoprotectfromthem,takestthou
aknifeofiron,new,ofamouse’sdroppingsahalfounce,ofagrayheron’sfat
—”
“Good,welldone.Hmm…Andhere?What’sthis?”
The etching showed a disheveled monstrosity with enormous eyes and
even larger teeth, riding a horse. In its right hand, the monstrous being
wieldedasubstantialsword,initsleft,abagofmoney.
“A witchman,” mumbled the woman. “Called by some a witcher. To
summon him is most dangerous, albeit one must; for when against the
monster and the vermin there be no aid, the witchman can contrive. But
carefulonemustbe—”
“Enough,”mutteredGeralt.“Enough,Grandma.Thankyou.”
“No, no,” protested Dandilion with a malicious smile. “How does it go
on?Whatagreatlyinterestingbook!Goon,Granny,goon.”
“Eeee…Butcarefulonemustbetotouchnotthewitchman,forthusthe
mange can one acquire. And lasses do from him hide away, for lustful the
witchmanisaboveallmeasure—”
“Quite correct, spot on,” laughed the poet, and Lille, so it seemed to
Geralt,smiledalmostimperceptibly.
“—though the witchman greatly covetous and greedy for gold be,”
mumbled the old woman, half-closing her eyes, “giveth ye not such a one
more than: for a drowner, one silver penny or three halves; for a werecat,
silverpenniestwo;foraplumard,silverpennies—”
“Thosewerethedays,”mutteredthewitcher.“Thankyou,Grandma.And
now show us where it speaks of the devil and what the book says about
devils.Thistime‘tisgratefulI’dbetohearethmore,fortolearnthewaysand
meanesyedidusetodealwithhimmostcuriousamI.”
“Careful, Geralt,” chuckled Dandilion. “You’re starting to fallinto their
jargon.It’saninfectiousmannerism.”
Thewoman,controllinghershakinghandswithdifficulty,turnedseveral
pages. The witcher and the poet leaned over the table. The etching did, in
effect,showtheball-thrower:horned,hairy,tailedandsmilingmaliciously.
“Thedeovel,”recitedthewoman.“Alsocalled‘willower’or‘sylvan.’For
livestockanddomesticfowl,atiresomeandgreatpestishe.Beityourwillto
177
chasehimfromyourhamlet,takestthou—”
“Well,well,”murmuredDandilion.
“—takest thou of nuts, one fistful,” continued the woman, running her
fingeralongtheparchment.“Next,takestthouofironballsasecondfistful.
Ofhoneyanutricle,ofbirchtarasecond.Ofgraysoapafirkin;ofsoftcheese
another. There where the deovel dwelleth, goest thou when ‘tis night.
Commenceththentoeatthenuts.Anon,thedeovelwhohathgreatgreed,will
hastenandaskiftheyaretastyindeed.Givesttohimthentheballsofiron—”
“Damnyou,”murmuredDandilion.“Poxtake—”
“Quiet,”saidGeralt.“Well,Grandma.Goon.”
“…havingbrokenhisteethhewillbeattentiveasthoueatestthehoney.
Ofsaid honey will he himself desire. Givest him ofbirch tar,thenyourself
eateth soft cheese. Soon, hearest thou, will the deovel grumbleth and
tumbleth, but makest of itasnaught. Yet ifthe deoveldesirethsoft cheese,
givesthimsoap.Forsoapthedeovelwithstandethnot—”
“Yougottothesoap?”interruptedGeraltwithastonyexpression,turning
towardDhunandNettly.
“Innoway,”groanedNettly.“Ifonlywehadgottotheballs.Buthegave
uswhatforwhenhebitaball—”
“And who told you to give him so many?” Dandilion was enraged. “It
standswritteninthebook,onefistfultotake.Yetyegavethofballsasackful!
Yefurnishedhimwithammunitionfortwoyears,thefoolsyebe!”
“Careful.” The witchersmiled. “You’re starting to fall into their jargon.
It’sinfectious.”
“Thankyou.”
Geralt suddenly raised his head and looked into the eyes of the girl
standing by the woman. Lille didn’t lower her eyes. They were pale and
wildlyblue.“Whyareyoubringingthedevilofferingsintheformofgrain?”
heaskedsharply.“Afterall,it’sobviousthathe’satypicalherbivore.”
Lilledidn’tanswer.
“I asked you a question, girl. Don’t be frightened, you won’t get the
mangebytalkingtome.”
“Don’t ask her anything, sir,” said Nettly, with obvious unease in his
voice.“Lille…She…Shebestrange.Shewon’tansweryou;don’tforceher.”
GeraltkeptlookingintoLille’seyes,andLillestillmethisgaze.Hefelta
shiverrundownhisbackandcreepalonghisshoulders.
“Why didn’t you attack the devil with stancheons and pitchforks.” He
raisedhisvoice.“Whydidn’tyousetatrapforhim?Ifyou’dwantedto,his
178
goat’s headwouldalreadybe spiked onapoleto frightencrowsaway. You
warnedmenottokillhim.Why?Youforbadeit,didn’tyou,Lille?”
Dhungotupfromthebench.Hisheadalmosttouchedthebeams.
“Leave,lass,”hegrowled.“Taketheoldwomanandleave.”
“Whoisshe,honorableDhun?”thewitcherdemandedasthedoorclosed
behind Lille and the woman. “Who is that girl? Why does she enjoy more
respectfromyouthanthatbloodybook?”
“It be nae yer business.” Dhun looked at him, and there was no
friendliness in his eyes. “Persecute wise women in your own town, burn
stakesinyerownland.Therehasbeennoneofithere,norwilltherebe.”
“Youdidn’tunderstandme,”saidthewitchercoldly.
“BecauseIdidnaetry,”growledDhun.
“Pnoticed,”Geraltsaidthroughhisteeth,makingnoefforttobecordial.
“Butbesograciousastounderstandsomething,honorableDhun.Wehaveno
agreement. I haven’t committed myself to you in any way. You have no
reason to believe that you’ve bought yourself a witcher who, for a silver
pennyorthreehalves,willdowhatyoucan’tdoyourselves.Ordon’twantto
do.Oraren’tallowedto.No,honorableDhun.Youhavenotboughtyourselfa
witcher yet, and I don’t think you’ll succeed in doing so. Not with your
reluctancetounderstand.”
Dhunremainedsilent,measuringGeraltwithagloomystare.
Nettly cleared his throat and wriggled on the bench, shuffling his rag
sandalsonthedirtfloor,thensuddenlystraightenedup.
“Witcher,sir,”hesaid.“Donaebeenraged.Wewilltellye,whatandhow.
Dhun?”
Theelderofthevillagenoddedandsatdown.
“Asweberidinghere,”beganNettly,“yedidnoticehoweverythinghere
grows,thegreatharvestswehave?Therebenaemanyplacesyeseeallgrow
likethis,iftherebeanysuch.Seedlingsandseedsbesoimportanttousthat
‘tiswiththemwepayourleviesandwesellthemandusethemtobarter—”
“What’sthatgottodowiththedevil?”
“Thedeovelwaswonttomakeanuisanceofhimselfandplaysillytricks,
andthenhebestartingtostealagreatdealofgrain.Atthebeginning,webe
bringinghim a little to the stonein thehemp, thinkinghis fill he’deat and
leaveusinpeace.Naughtofit.Withavengeancehewentonstealing.And
when we started to hide our supplies in shops and sheds, well locked and
bolted,‘tisfurioushegrew,sir,heroared,bleated.‘Uk!Uk!’hecalled,and
whenhegoes‘Uk!Uk!’ye’ddobesttorunforyerlife.Hethreatenedto—”
179
“—screw,”Dandilionthrewinwitharibaldsmile.
“Thattoo,”agreedNettly.“Oh,andhementionedafire.Talklongaswe
may, he could nae steal so ‘tis levies he demanded. He ordered grain and
othergoodsbebroughthimbythesackful.Riledwewerethenandintending
tobeathistailedarse.But—”Thefreemanclearedhisthroatandloweredhis
head.
“Yeneednaebeataboutthebush,”saidDhunsuddenly.“Wejudgedthe
witcherwrong.Tellhimeverything,Nettly.”
“Theoldwoman forbade ustobeatthe devil,” saidNettlyquickly, “but
weknow‘tisLille,becausethewoman…Thewomanonly says what Lille
tellherto.Andwe…Yeknowyerself,sir.Welisten.”
“I’ve noticed.” Geralt twisted his lips ina smile.“The woman can only
waggleherchinandmumbleatextwhichshedoesn’tunderstandherself.And
you stare at the girl, with gaping mouths, as if she were the statue of a
goddess.Youavoidhereyesbuttrytoguessherwishes.Andherwishesare
yourcommand.WhoisthisLilleofyours?”
“Butyehaveguessedthat,sir.Aprophetess.AWiseOne.Butsaynaught
of this to anyone. We ask ye. If word were to get to the steward, or, gods
forbid,totheviceroy—”
“Don’tworry,”saidGeraltseriously.“IknowwhatthatmeansandIwon’t
betrayyou.”
The strange women and girls, called prophetesses or Wise Ones, who
could be found in villages, didn’t enjoy the favor of those noblemen who
collected levies and profited from farming. Farmers always consulted
prophetesses on everything and believed them, blindly and boundlessly.
Decisionsbasedontheiradvicewereoftencompletelycontrarytothepolitics
of lords and overlords. Geralt had heard of incomprehensible decrees—the
slaughterofentirepedigreeherds,thecessationofsowingorharvesting,and
even the migration of entire villages. Local lords therefore opposed the
superstition,oftenbrutally,andfreemenveryquicklylearnedtohidetheWise
Ones. But they didn’t stop listening to their advice. Because experience
provedtheWiseOneswerealwaysrightinthelongrun.
“Lilledidnotpermitustokillthedeovel,”continuedNettly.“Shetoldus
todowhatthebookesays.Asyewellknow,itdidnaeworkout.Therehas
alreadybeentroublewith the steward. If we givelessgraininlevythan be
normal, ‘tis bawl he will, shout and fulminate. Thus we have nay even
squeakedtohimofthedeovel,thereasonbeingthestewardberuthlessand
knowscruellylittleaboutjokes.Andthenyehappenedalong.WeaskedLille
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ifwecould…hireye—”
“And?”
“She said, through the woman, that she need first of all to look at ye.”
“Andshedid.”
“Thatshedid.Andacceptedyeshehas,thatweknow.Wecantellwhat
Lilleacceptsandwhatshedoesnae.”
“Sheneversaidawordtome.”
“Shene’erhasspokenwordtoanyone—savetheoldwoman.Butifshe
hadnotacceptedye,shewouldnayhaveenteredtheroomforallintheworld
—”
“Hmm…”Geraltreflected.“That’sinteresting.Aprophetesswho,instead
ofprophesying,doesn’tsayaword.Howdidshecometobeamongyou?”
“Wenaeknow,witcher,sir,”mutteredDhun.“Butasfortheoldwoman,
sotheolderfolkremember,itbelikethis.Theoldwomanaforehertooka
close-tongued girl under her wing too, one as which came from no one
knows.And that girl she be our oldwoman. My grandfatherwould say the
oldwomanberebornthatway.Likethemoonsheberebornintheskyand
evernewshebe.Donaelaugh—”
“I’mnotlaughing.”Geraltshookhishead.“I’veseentoomuchtolaughat
thingslikethat.NordoIintendtopokemynoseintoyouraffairs,honorable
Dhun. My questions aim to establish the bond between Lille and the devil.
You’veprobablyrealizedyourselvesthatoneexists.Soifyou’reanxiousto
beongoodtermswithyourprophetess,thenIcangiveyouonlyonewayto
dealwiththedevil:youmustgettolikehim.”
“Knowye,sir,”saidNettly,“itbenaeonlyamatterofthedeovel.Lille
doesnaeletusharmanything.Anycreature.”
“Of course,” Dandilion butted in, “country prophetesses grow from the
sametreeasdruids.Andadruidwillgosofarastowishthegadflysucking
hisbloodtoenjoyitsmeal.”
“Yehitsitonthe head.”Nettlyfaintlysmiled.“Ye hitsthenail righton
thehead.‘Twasthesamewithusandthewildboarsthatdugupourvegetable
beds.Lookoutthewindow:bedsasprettyasapicture.Wehavefoundaway,
Lilledoesnaeevenknow.Whattheeyesdonaysee,theheartwillnaemiss.
Understand?”
“Iunderstand,”mutteredGeralt.“Andhow.Butwecan’tmoveforward.
LilleornoLille,yourdevilisasylvan.Anexceptionallyrarebutintelligent
creature.Iwon’tkillhim;mycodedoesn’tallowit.”
“Ifhebeintelligent,”saidDhun,“gospeakreasontohim.”
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“Just so,” Nettly joined in. “If the deovel has brains, that will mean he
stealsgrainaccordingtoreason.Soye,witcher,findoutwhathewants.He
doesnaeeatthatgrain,afterall—notsomuch,atleast.Sowhatdoeshewant
grain for? To spite us? What does he want? Find out and chase him off in
somewitcherway.Willyedothat?”
“I’lltry,”decidedGeralt.“But…”
“Butwhat?”
“Yourbook,myfriends,isoutofdate.DoyouseewhatI’mgettingat?”
“Well,forsooth,”gruntedDhun,“notreally.”
“I’llexplain.HonorableDhun,honorableNettly,ifyou’recountingonmy
help costing you a silver penny or three halves, then you are bloody well
mistaken.”
182
V
“Hey!”
Arustle,anangryUk!Uk!andthesnappingofstakes,reachedthemfrom
thethicket.
“Hey!”repeatedthewitcher,prudentlyremaininghidden.“Showyourself,
willower.”
“Willoweryourself.”
“Sowhatisit?Devil?”
“Devil yourself.” The sylvan pokedhis headoutfrom the hemp, baring
histeeth.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Totalk.”
“Areyoumakingfunofmeorwhat?DoyouthinkIdon’tknowwhoyou
are?Thepeasantshiredyoutothrowmeoutofhere,eh?”
“That’sright,”admittedGeraltindifferently.“Andthat’spreciselywhatI
wantedtochattoyouabout.Whatifweweretocometoanunderstanding?”
“That’swhereithurts,”bleatedthesylvan.“You’dliketogetofflightly,
wouldn’t you? Without making an effort, eh? Pull the other one! Life, my
goodman, meanscompetition.Thebestman wins.Ifyou wanttowin with
me,proveyou’rethebest.Insteadofcomingtoanunderstanding,we’llhave
competitions.Thewinnerdictatestheconditions.Iproposearacefromhere
totheoldwillowonthedyke.”
“Idon’tknowwherethedykeis,ortheoldwillow.”
“Iwouldn’tsuggesttheraceifyouknew.IlikecompetitionsbutIdon’t
likelosing.”
“I’venoticed.No,wewon’traceeachother.It’sveryhottoday.”
“Pity.Somaybewe’llpitourselvesagainsteachotherinadifferentway?”
The sylvan bared his yellow teeth and picked up a large stone from the
ground. “Do you know the game‘Who shoutsloudest?’ I shout first.Close
youreyes.”
“Ihaveadifferentproposition.”
“I’mallears.”
“Youleaveherewithoutanycompetitions,racesorshouting.Ofyourown
accord,withoutbeingforced.”
“You can shove such a proposition a d’yeabl aep arse.” The devil
demonstratedhisknowledgeoftheOldLanguage.“Iwon’tleavehere.Ilike
ithere.”
183
“Butyou’vemadetoomuchofanuisanceofyourselfhere.Yourpranks
havegonetoofar.”
“Duvvelsheysstoyouwithmypranks.”Thesylvan,asitturnedout,also
knewthedwarves’tongue.“Andyourpropositionisalsoworthasmuchasa
duvvelsheyss. I’m not going anywhere unless you beat me at some game.
Shall I give you a chance? We’ll play at riddles if you don’t like physical
games.I’llgiveyouariddleinaminuteandifyouguess it,you winand I
leave.Ifyoudon’t,Istayandyouleave.Rackyourbrainsbecausetheriddle
isn’teasy.”
Before Geralt could protest, the sylvan bleated, stamped his hooves,
whippedthegroundwithhistailandrecited:
Itgrowsinsoftclay,notfarfromthestream,
Littlepinkleaves,podssmallandfull,
Itgrowsinsoftclay,notfarfromthestream,
Onalongstalk,itsflowerismoist,
Buttoacat,pleaseshowitnot,
’Cosifyoudo,he’lleatthelot.
“Well,whatisit?Guess.”
“Ihaven’tthefaintestidea,”thewitchersaid,noteventryingtothinkit
over.“Sweetpea,perhaps?”
“Wrong.Youlose.”
“And what is the correct answer? What has… hmm… moist pods?”
“Cabbage.”
“Listen,”growledGeralt.“You’restartingtogetonmynerves.”
“Iwarnedyou,”chuckledthesylvan,“thattheriddlewasn’teasy.Tough.I
won,Istay.Andyouleave.Iwishyou,sir,acoldfarewell.”
“Just a moment.” The witcher surreptitiously slipped a hand into his
pocket.“Andmyriddle?Ihavetherighttoarevengematch,haven’tI?”
“No!”protestedthedevil.“Imightnotguessit,afterall.Doyoutakeme
forafool?”
“No.” Geralt shook his head. “I take you for a spiteful, arrogant dope.
We’regoingtoplayquiteanewgameshortly,onewhichyoudon’tknow.”
“Ha!Afterall!Whatgame?”
“Thegameiscalled,”saidthewitcherslowly,“don’tdountootherswhat
youwouldnothavethemdotoyou.’Youdon’thavetocloseyoureyes.”
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Geralt stooped in a lightning throw; the one-inch iron ball whizzed
sharplythroughtheairandthwackedthesylvanstraightbetweenthehorns.
Thecreaturecollapsedontohisbackasifhitbyathunderbolt.Geraltdived
between the poles and grabbed him by one shaggy leg. The sylvan bleated
andkicked. Thewitchershelteredhishead withhisarm, buttolittleeffect.
Thesylvan,despitehismeanposture,kickedwiththestrengthofanenraged
mule. The witcher tried and failed to catch a kicking hoof. The sylvan
flapped, thrashed his hands on the ground and kicked him again in the
forehead. The witchercursed, feeling the sylvan’s leg slipfrom his fingers.
Both, having parted, rolled in opposite directions, kicked the poles with a
crashandtangledthemselvesupinthecreepinghemp.
The sylvan was the first to jump up, and, lowering his horned head,
charged.ButGeraltwasalreadyonhisfeetandeffortlesslydodgedtheattack,
grabbed the creature by a horn, tugged hard, threw him to the ground and
crushed him with his knees. The sylvan bleated and spat straight into the
witcher’s eyes like a camel suffering from excess saliva. The witcher
instinctively stepped back without releasing the devil’s horns. The sylvan,
tryingtotosshishead,kickedwithbothhoovesatonceand—strangely—hit
themarkwithboth.Geraltsworenastily,butdidn’treleasehisgrip.Hepulled
thesylvanup,pinnedhimtothecreakingpolesandkickedhiminashaggy
kneewithallhismight;thenheleanedoverandspatrightintohisear.The
sylvanhowledandsnappedhisbluntteeth.
“Don’tdountoothers…”pantedthewitcher,“…whatyouwouldnothave
them do to you. Shall we play on?” The sylvan gurgled, howled and spat
fiercely,butGeraltheldhimfirmlybythehornsandpressedhisheaddown
hard,makingthespittlehitthesylvan’sownhooves,whichtoreattheground,
sendingupcloudsofdustandweeds.
The next few minutes passed in an intense skirmish and exchange of
insults and kicks. If Geralt was pleased about anything, it was only that
nobodycouldseehim—foritwasatrulyridiculoussight.
The force of the next kick torethe combatants apart and threwthem in
opposite directions, into the hemp thicket. The sylvan got up before the
witcherandrushedtoescape,limpingsheavily.Geralt,pantingandwipinghis
brow,rushedinpursuit.Theyforcedtheirwaythroughthehempandraninto
thehops.Thewitcherheardthepoundingofagallopinghorse,thesoundhe’d
beenwaitingfor.
“Here,Dandilion!Here!”heyelled.“Inthehops!”
Hesawthemountbreastrightinfrontofhimandwasknockedover.He
185
bounced off the horse as though it were a rock and tumbled onto his back.
Theworlddarkened.Hemanagedtorolltotheside,behindthehoppoles,to
avoid the hooves. He sprung up nimbly but another rider rode into him,
knockinghimdownagain.Thensuddenly,someonethrewthemselvesathim
andpinnedhimtotheground.
Thentherewasaflash,andapiercingpaininthebackofhishead.
Anddarkness.
186
VI
Therewas sand onhislips. When hetriedto spititout,he realizedhewas
lyingfacedownontheground.Andhewastiedup.Heraisedhishead,alittle
andheardvoices.
Hewaslyingontheforestfloor,byapinetree.Sometwentypacesaway
stood unsaddled horses. They were obscured behind the feathery fronds of
ferns,butoneofthosehorseswas,withoutadoubt,Dandilion’schestnut.
“Threesacksofcorn,”heheard.“Good,Torque.Verygood.You’vedone
well.”
“That’snotall,” saidthebleating voice,whichcouldonlybe thesylvan
devil.“Lookatthis,Galarr.Itlookslikebeansbutit’scompletelywhite.And
thesizeofit!Andthis,thisiscalledoilseed.Theymakeoilfromit.”
Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. No, it wasn’t a
dream.ThedevilandGalarr,whoeverhewas,wereusingtheOldLanguage,
the language of elves. But the words corn, beans, and oilseed were in the
commontongue.
“Andthis?What’sthis?”askedGalarr.
“Flaxseed.Flax,youknow?Youmakeshirtsfromflax.It’smuchcheaper
thansilk,andmorehardwearing.It’squiteacomplicatedprocessasfarasI
knowbutI’llfindouttheinsandouts.”
“As long as it takes root, this flax of yours; as long as it doesn’t go to
wasteliketheturnip,”grumbledGalarr,inthesamestrangeVolapuk.“Tryto
getsomenewturnipseedlings,Torque.”
“Have no fear,” bleatedthe sylvan. “There’s noproblem with thathere.
Everythinggrowslikehell.I’llgetyousome,don’tworry.”
“Andonemorething,”saidGalarr.“Finallyfindoutwhatthatthree-field
systemoftheirsisallabout.”
Thewitchercarefullyraisedhisheadandtriedtoturnaround.
“Geralt…”Heheardawhisper.“Areyouawake?”
“Dandilion…” he whispered back. “Where are we…? What’s
happening?”
Dandiliononlygruntedquietly.Geralthadhadenough.Hecursed,tensed
himselfandturnedontohisside.
Inthemiddleofthegladestoodthesylvandevilwith—ashenowknew—
thesweetnameofTorque.Hewasbusyloadingsacks,bagsandpacksonto
thehorses.Hewasbeinghelpedbyaslim,tallmanwhocouldonlybeGalarr.
187
Thelatter,hearingthewitchermove,turnedaround.Hishairwasblackwitha
distincthintofdarkblue.Hehadsharpfeatures,big,brighteyesandpointed
ears.
Galarrwasanelf.Anelffromthemountains.Apure-bloodedAenSeidhe,
arepresentativeoftheOldPeople.
Galarrwasn’talone.Sixmoresatattheedgeoftheglade.Onewasbusy
emptying Dandilion’s packs; another strummed the troubadour’s lute. The
remainder, gathered aroundan untied sack, weregreedily devouring turnips
andrawcarrots.
“Vanadain,Toruviel,” saidGalarr,indicatingtheprisonerswith anodof
hishead.“Vedrai!Enn’le!”
Torque jumped up and bleated. “No, Galarr! No! Filavandrel has
forbiddenit!Haveyouforgotten?”
“No,Ihaven’tforgotten.”Galarrthrewtwotiedsacksacrossthehorse’s
back.“Butwehavetocheckiftheyhaven’tloosenedtheknots.”
“Whatdoyouwantfromus?”thetroubadourmoanedasoneoftheelves
knockedhim to the ground with his knee andchecked the knots.“Why are
youholdingusprisoners?Whatdoyouwant?I’mDandilion,apoe—”
Geraltheardthesoundofablow.Heturnedaround,twistedhishead.
TheelfstandingoverDandilionhadblackeyesandravenhair,whichfell
luxuriantly over her shoulders, except for two thin plaits braided at her
temples.Shewaswearingashortleathercamisoleoveralooseshirtofgreen
satin, and tight woollen leggings tucked into riding boots. Her hips were
wrapped around with a colored shawl which reached halfway down her
thighs.
“Queglosse?”sheasked,lookingatthewitcherandplayingwiththehilt
ofthelongdaggerinherbelt.“Quel’enpavienn,ell’ea?”
“Nell’ea,”hecontested.“T’enpavienn,AenSeidhe.”
“Didyouhear?”Theelfturnedtohercompanion,thetallSeidhewho,not
bothering to check Geralt’s knots, was strumming away at Dandilion’s lute
withanexpressionofindifferenceonhislongface.“Didyouhear,Vanadain?
Theape-mancantalk!Hecanevenbeimpertinent!”
Seidheshrugged,makingthefeathersdecoratinghisjacketrustle.“Allthe
morereasontogaghim,Toruviel.”
The elf leaned over Geralt. She had long lashes, an unnaturally pale
complexionandparched,crackedlips.Sheworeanecklaceofcarvedgolden
birchpiecesonathong,wrappedaroundherneckseveraltimes.
“Well, say something else, ape-man,” she hissed. “We’ll see what your
188
throat,sousedtobarking,iscapableof.”
“What’sthis?Doyouneedanexcusetohitaboundman?”Thewitcher
turnedoveronhisbackwithaneffortandspatoutthesand.“Hitmewithout
anyexcuses.I’veseenhowyoulikeit.Letoffsomesteam.”
Theelfstraightened.“I’vealreadyletoffsomesteamonyou,whileyour
hands were free,” shesaid. “I rodeyou down and swipedyou on the head.
AndI’llalsofinishyouoffwhenthetimecomes.”
Hedidn’tanswer.
“I’d much rather stab you from close up, looking you in the eyes,”
continuedtheelf.“Butyoustinkmosthideously,human,soI’llshootyou.”
“Asyouwish.”Thewitchershrugged,asfarastheknotslethim.“Doas
youlike,nobleAenSeidhe.Youshouldn’tmissatied-up,motionlesstarget.”
Theelfstoodoverhim,legsspread,andleaneddown,flashingherteeth.
“No,Ishouldn’t,”shehissed.“IhitwhateverIwant.Butyoucanbesure
youwon’tdiefromthefirstarrow.Or thesecond.I’lltrytomakesureyou
canfeelyourselfdying.”
“Don’t come so close.” He grimaced, pretending to be repulsed. “You
stinkmosthideously,AenSeidhe.”
Theelfjumpedback,rockedonhernarrowhipsandforcefullykickedhim
inthe thigh.Geraltdrewhislegs inandcurled up,knowingwhereshewas
aiming next. He succeeded, and got her boot in the hip, so hard his teeth
rattled.
Thetallelfstandingnexttoherechoedeachkickwithasharpchordon
thelute.
“Leavehim,Toruviel!”bleatedthesylvan.“Haveyougonemad?Galarr,
tellhertostop!”
“Thaesse!” shrieked Toruviel, and kicked the witcher again. The tall
Seidhe tore so violently at the strings that one snapped with a protracted
whine.
“Enough of that! Enough, for gods’ sake!” Dandilion yelled fretfully,
wrigglingandtumblingintheropes.“Whyareyoubullyinghim,youstupid
whore?Leaveusalone!Andyouleavemylutealone,allright?”
Toruviel turned to him with an angry grimace on her cracked lips.
“Musician!”shegrowled.“Ahuman,yetamusician!Alutenist!”
Without a word, she pulled the instrument from the tall elf’s hand,
forcefullysmashedtheluteagainstthepineandthrewtheremains,tangledin
thestrings,onDandilion’schest.
“Playonacow’shorn,yousavage,notalute.”
189
Thepoetturnedaswhiteasdeath;hislipsquivered.Geralt,feelingcold
furyrisingupsomewherewithinhim,drewToruviel’seyeswithhisown.
“Whatareyoustaringat?”hissedtheelf,leaningover.“Filthyape-man!
Doyouwantmetogougeoutthoseinsecteyesofyours?”
Hernecklacehungdownjustabovehim.Thewitchertensed,lunged,and
caughtthenecklaceinhisteeth,tuggingpowerfully, curling his legs in and
turningonhisside.
Toruviellostherbalanceandfellontopofhim.
Geralt wriggled in the ropes like a fish, crushed the elf beneath him,
tossed his headback with suchforce that the vertebraein his neckcracked
and, with all his might, butted her in the face with his forehead. Toruviel
howledandstruggled.
Theypulledhimoffherbrutallyand,tuggingathisclothesandhair,lifted
him. One of them struckhim; hefeltringscut the skin over hischeekbone
andtheforestdancedandswaminfrontofhiseyes.HesawToruviellurchto
her knees, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. The elf wrenched the
dagger from its sheath but gave a sob, hunched over, grasped her face and
droppedherheadbetweenherknees.
The tall elfin the jacket adorned with colorful feathers took the dagger
fromherhandandapproachedthewitcher.Hesmiledasheraisedtheblade.
Geraltsawhimthrougharedhaze;bloodfromhisforehead,whichhe’dcut
againstToruviel’steeth,pouredintohiseyesockets.
“No!” bleated Torque, running upto the elfand hanging on to his arm.
“Don’tkillhim!No!”
“Voe’rle, Vanadain,” a sonorous voice suddenly commanded. “Quess
aen?Caelm,evellienn!Galarr!”
Geraltturnedhisheadasfarasthefistclutchinghishairpermitted.
The horse which had just reached the glade was as white as snow, its
manelong,softandsilkyasawoman’shair.Thehairoftheridersittinginthe
sumptuous saddle was identical in color, pulled back at the forehead by a
bandanastuddedwithsapphires.
Torque, bleating now and then, ran up to the horse, caught hold of the
stirrupandshoweredthewhite-hairedelfwithatorrentofwords.TheSeidhe
interrupted him with an authoritative gesture and jumped down from his
saddle.HeapproachedToruviel,whowasbeingsupportedbytwoelves,and
carefullyremovedthebloodiedhandkerchieffromher face.Toruvielgavea
heartrendinggroan. TheSeidheshook hisheadand approachedthewitcher.
His burning black eyes, shining like stars in his pale face, had dark rings
190
beneaththem,asifhehadnotsleptforseveralnightsinarow.
“You stink even when bound,” he said quietly in unaccented common
tongue.“Likeabasilisk.I’lldrawmyconclusionsfromthat.”
“Toruvielstartedit,”bleatedthedevil.“Shekickedhimwhenhewastied
up,asifshe’dlosthermind—”
Withagesture,theelforderedhimtobequiet.Athiscommand,theother
Seidhe dragged the witcher and Dandilion under the pine tree and fastened
them to the trunk with belts. Then they all knelt by the prostrate Toruviel,
shelteringher.AfteramomentGeraltheardheryellandfightintheirarms.
“Ididn’twantthis,”saidthesylvan,stillstandingnexttothem.“Ididn’t,
human. I didn’tknow they’d arrive just when we—Whentheystunned you
andtiedyourcompanionup,Iaskedthemtoleaveyouthere,inthehops.But
—”
“Theycouldn’tleaveanywitnesses,”mutteredthewitcher.
“Surely they won’t kill us, will they?” groaned Dandilion. “Surely they
won’t…”
Torquesaidnothing,wigglinghissoftnose.
“Bloody hell.” The poet groaned. “They’re going to kill us? What’s all
thisabout,Geralt?Whatdidwewitness?”
“OursylvanfriendisonaspecialmissionintheValleyofFlowers.AmI
right,Torque?Attheelves’requesthe’sstealingseeds,seedlings,knowledge
aboutfarming…Whatelse,devil?”
“WhateverIcan,”bleatedTorque.“Everythingtheyneed.Andshowme
somethingtheydon’tneed. They’re starving in themountains, especially in
winter.Andtheyknownothingaboutfarming.Andbeforethey’velearnedto
domesticategameorpoultry,andtocultivatewhattheycanintheirplotsof
land…Theyhaven’tgotthetime,human.”
“Idon’tcareashitabouttheirtime.WhathaveIdonetothem?”groaned
Dandilion.“WhatwronghaveIdonethem?”
“Thinkcarefully,”saidthewhite-hairedelf,approachingwithoutasound,
“andmaybeyoucananswerthequestionyourself.”
“He’s simply taking revenge for all the wrong that man has done the
elves.”Thewitchersmiledwryly.“It’sallthesametohimwhohetakeshis
revenge on. Don’t be deluded by his noble bearing and elaborate speech,
Dandilion.He’snodifferentthan the black-eyes whoknockedusdown.He
hastounloadhispowerlesshatredonsomebody.”
TheelfpickedupDandilion’sshatteredlute.Foramoment,helookedat
theruinedinstrumentinsilence,andfinallythrewitintothebushes.
191
“If I wanted to give vent to hatred or a desire for revenge,” he said,
playingwithapairofsoftwhiteleathergloves,“I’dstormthevalleyatnight,
burn down the village and kill the villagers. Childishly simple. They don’t
evenputoutaguard.Theydon’tseeorhearuswhentheycometotheforest.
Cantherebeanythingsimpler,anythingeasier,thanaswift,silentarrowfrom
behindatree? Butwe’renothunting you.Itisyou, man withstrangeeyes,
whoishuntingourfriend,thesylvanTorque.”
“Eeeeee, that’s exaggerating,” bleated the devil. “What hunt? We were
havingabitoffun—”
“Itisyouhumanswhohateanythingthatdiffersfromyou,beitonlyby
the shape of its ears,” the elf went on calmly, paying no attention to the
sylvan. “That’s why you took our land from us, drove us from our homes,
forcedusintothesavagemountains.YoutookourDolBlathanna,theValley
of Flowers. I am Filavandrel aen Fidhail of Silver Towers, of the Feleaorn
familyfromWhiteShips.Now,exiledandhoundedtotheedgeoftheworld,I
amFilavandreloftheEdgeoftheWorld.”
“The world ishuge,” muttered the witcher. “We canfind room. There’s
enoughspace.”
“Theworldishuge,”repeatedtheelf.“That’strue,human.Butyouhave
changedthisworld.Atfirst,youusedforcetochangeit.Youtreateditasyou
treat anything that falls into your hands. Now it looks as if the world has
startedtofitinwithyou.It’sgivenwaytoyou.It’sgivenin.”
Geraltdidn’treply.
“Torque spoke the truth,” continued Filavandrel. “Yes, we are starving.
Yes,wearethreatenedwithannihilation.Thesunshinesdifferently,theairis
different,waterisnotasitusedtobe.Thethingsweusedtoeat,madeuseof,
are dying, diminishing, deteriorating. We never cultivated the land. Unlike
youhumans,wenevertoreatitwithhoesandploughs.Toyou,theearthpays
abloodytribute.Itbestowedgiftsonus.Youteartheearth’streasuresfromit
byforce.Forus,theearthgavebirthandblossomedbecauseitlovedus.Well,
nolovelastsforever.Butwestillwanttosurvive.”
“Insteadofstealinggrain,youcanbuyit.Asmuchasyouneed.Youstill
haveagreatmanythingsthathumansconsidervaluable.Youcantrade.”
Filavandrelsmiledcontemptuously.“Withyou?Never.”
Geraltfrowned,breakingupthedriedbloodonhischeek.“Thedevilwith
you,then,andyour arrogance andcontempt.Byrefusingto cohabit, you’re
condemning yourselves to annihilation. To cohabit, to come to an
understanding,that’syouronlychance.”
192
Filavandrelleanedforward,hiseyesblazing.
“Cohabit on your terms?” he asked in a changed, yet still calm, voice.
“Acknowledging your sovereignty? Losing our identity? Cohabit as what?
Slaves? Pariahs? Cohabit with you from beyond the walls you’ve built to
fenceyourselvesawayintowns?Cohabitwithyourwomenandhangforit?
Orlookonatwhathalf-bloodchildrenmustlivewith?Whyareyouavoiding
my eyes, strange human? Howdoyou find cohabiting with neighborsfrom
whom,afterall,youdodiffersomewhat?”
“I manage.” The witcher looked him straight in the eyes. “I manage
becauseIhaveto.BecauseI’venootherwayout.BecauseI’veovercomethe
vanity and pride of being different. I’ve understood that they are a pitiful
defenseagainst beingdifferent.Because I’veunderstoodthat thesunshines
differently when something changes,but I’m notthe axis ofthose changes.
Thesunshinesdifferently,butitwillcontinuetoshine,andjumpingatitwith
ahoeisn’tgoingtodoanything.We’vegottoacceptfacts,elf.That’swhat
we’vegottolearn.”
“That’swhatyouwant,isn’tit?”Withhiswrist,Filavandrelwipedaway
thesweatabovehiswhitebrows.“Isthatwhatyouwanttoimposeonothers?
The conviction that your timehas come, your human era and age, and that
whatyou’redoingtootherracesisasnaturalastherisingandthesettingof
thesun?Thateverybodyhastocometotermswithit,toacceptit?Andyou
accusemeofvanity?Andwhataretheviewsyou’reproclaiming?Whydon’t
youhumansfinallyrealizethatyourdominationoftheworldisasnaturaland
repellant as lice multiplying in a sheepskin coat? You could propose we
cohabit with lice and get the same reaction—and I’d listen to the lice as
attentivelyifthey,inreturnforouracknowledgmentoftheirsupremacy,were
toagreetoallowcommonuseofthecoat.”
“So don’t waste time discussing it with such an unpleasant insect, elf,”
saidthewitcher,barelyabletocontrolhisvoice.“I’msurprisedyouwantto
arouseafeelingofguiltandrepentanceinsuchalouseasme.You’repitiful,
Filavandrel. You’re embittered, hungry for revenge and conscious of your
ownpowerlessness.Goon,thrusttheswordintome.Revengeyourselfonthe
wholehuman race.You’llsee whatreliefthat’llbringyou. Firstkickme in
theballsortheteeth,likeToruviel.”
Filavandrelturnedhishead.
“Toruvielissick,”hesaid.
“I know that disease and its symptoms.” Geralt spat over his shoulder.
“ThetreatmentIgaveheroughttohelp.”
193
“This conversation is senseless.” Filavandrel stepped away. “I’m sorry
we’vegottokillyou.Revengehasnothingtodowithit;it’spurelypractical.
Torquehastocarryonwithhistaskandnoonecansuspectwhohe’sdoingit
for.Wecan’taffordtogotowarwithyou,andwewon’tbetakeninbytrade
andexchange.We’renotsonaivethatwedon’tknowyourmerchantsarejust
outpostsofyourwayoflife.Weknowwhatfollowsthem.Andwhatsortof
cohabitationtheybring.”
“Elf,” Dandilion, who had remained silent until now, said quietly, “I’ve
gotfriends.Peoplewho’llpayransomforus.Intheformofprovisions,ifyou
like,oranyform.Thinkaboutit.Afterall,thosestolenseedsaren’tgoingto
saveyou—”
“Nothingwillsavethemanymore,”Geraltinterruptedhim.“Don’tgrovel,
Dandilion,don’tbeghim.It’spointlessandpitiful.”
“For someone who has lived such a short time”—Filavandrel forced a
smile—“youshowanastoundingdisdainfordeath,human.”
“Yourmothergivesbirthtoyouonlyonceandonlyoncedoyoudie,”the
witchersaidcalmly.“Anappropriatephilosophyforalouse,don’tyouagree?
Andyourlongevity?Ipityyou,Filavandrel.”
Theelfraisedhiseyebrows.
“Why?”
“You’re pathetic, with your little stolen sacks of seeds on pack horses,
with your handful of grain, that tiny crumb thanks to which you plan to
survive. And with that mission of yours which is supposed to turn your
thoughts from imminent annihilation. Because you know this is the end.
Nothingwillsproutoryieldcropsontheplateau;nothingwillsaveyounow.
Butyoulivelong,andyouwillliveverylonginarrogantisolation,fewerand
fewer of you, growing weaker and weaker, more and more bitter. And you
knowwhat’llhappenthen,Filavandrel.Youknowthatdesperateyoungmen
withtheeyesofhundred-year-oldmenandwithered,barrenandsickgirlslike
Toruviel willleadthosewho canstillholda swordandbowin their hands,
downintothevalleys.You’llcomedownintotheblossomingvalleystomeet
death, wanting to die honorably, in battle, and not in sickbeds of misery,
whereanemia,tuberculosisandscurvywillsendyou.Then,long-livingAen
Seidhe,you’ll rememberme.You’ll rememberthatI pitiedyou.And you’ll
understandthatIwasright.”
“Timewilltellwhowasright,”saidtheelfquietly.“Andhereinliesthe
advantageof longevity. I’ve got a chance of findingout, if onlybecause of
that stolen handful of grain. You won’t have a chance like that. You’ll die
194
shortly.”
“Sparehim,atleast.”GeraltindicatedDandilionwithhishead.“No,not
outofloftymercy.Outofcommonsense.Nobody’sgoingtoaskafterme,but
theyaregoingtotakerevengeforhim.”
“Youjudgemycommonsensepoorly,”theelfsaidaftersomehesitation.
“Ifhesurvivesthankstoyou,he’llundoubtedlyfeelobligedtoavengeyou.”
“Youcanbesureofthat!”Dandilionburstout,paleasdeath.“Youcanbe
sure,yousonofabitch.Killmetoo,becauseIpromiseotherwiseI’llsetthe
worldagainstyou.You’llseewhatlicefromafurcoatcando!We’llfinish
youoffevenifwehavetolevelthosemountainsofyourstotheground!You
canbesureofthat!”
“Howstupidyouare,Dandilion,”sighedthewitcher.
“Yourmothergivesbirthtoyouonlyonceandonlyoncedoyoudie,”said
the poet haughtily, the effect somewhat spoiled by his teeth rattling like
castanets.
“Thatsettlesit.”Filavandreltookhisglovesfromhisbeltandpulledthem
on.“It’stimetoendthis.”
At his command, the elves positioned themselves opposite Geralt and
Dandilionwithbows.Theydiditquickly;they’dobviouslybeenwaitingfor
thisalongtime.Oneofthem,thewitchernoticed,wasstillchewingaturnip.
Toruviel,hermouthandnosebandagedwithclothandbirchbark,stoodnext
tothearchers.Withoutabow.
“ShallIbindyoureyes?”askedFilavandrel.
“Goaway.”Thewitcherturnedhishead.“Go—”
“Ad’yeableaeparse,”Dandilionfinishedforhim,histeethchattering.
“Oh, no!” the sylvan suddenly bleated, running up and sheltering the
condemnedmenwithhisbody.“Haveyoulostyourmind?Filavandrel!This
isnot whatweagreed!Notthis! Youweresupposed totakethemupto the
mountains,holdthemsomewhereinsomecave,untilwe’dfinished—”
“Torque,”saidtheelf,“Ican’t.Ican’triskit.Didyouseewhathedidto
Toruvielwhiletiedup?Ican’triskit.”
“Idon’tcarewhatyoucanorcan’t!Whatdoyouimagine?YouthinkI’ll
let you murder them? Here, on my land? Right next to my hamlet? You
accursed idiots! Get out of herewithyour bows or I’ll ramyou down.Uk!
Uk!”
“Torque.”Filavandrelrestedhishandsonhisbelt.“Thisisnecessary.”
“Duvvelsheyss,notnecessary!”
“Moveaside,Torque.”
195
Thesylvanshookhisears,bleatedevenlouder,staredandbenthiselbow
inanabusivegesturepopularamongdwarves.
“You’re not going to murderanybody here!Get onyour horsesand out
intothemountains,beyondthepasses!Otherwiseyou’llhavetokillmetoo!”
“Be reasonable,” said the white-haired elf slowly. “If we let them live,
people are going to learn what you’re doing. They’ll catch you and torture
you.Youknowwhatthey’relike,afterall.”
“Ido,”bleatedthe sylvan stillshelteringGeraltand Dandilion. “Itturns
out I know them better than Iknowyou!And, verily, I don’tknow who to
sidewith.Iregretallyingmyselfwithyou,Filavandrel!”
“Youwantedto,”saidtheelfcoldly,givingasignaltothearchers.“You
wantedto,Torque.L’sparellean!Evellienn!”
The elves drew arrows from their quivers. “Go away, Torque,” said
Geralt, gritting his teeth. “It’s senseless. Get aside.” The sylvan, without
budgingfromthespot,showedhimthedwarves’gesture.
“Icanhear…music…”Dandilionsuddenlysobbed.
“Ithappens,”saidthe witcher, looking at thearrowheads.“Don’tworry.
There’snoshameinfear.”
Filavandrel’sfacechanged,screwedupinastrangegrimace.Thewhite-
haired Seidhe suddenlyturned round and gave ashout to thearchers. They
loweredtheirweapons.
Lilleenteredtheglade.
Shewasnolongeraskinnypeasantgirlinasackclothdress.Throughthe
grassescoveringthegladewalked—no,notwalked—floatedaqueen,radiant,
golden-haired,fiery-eyed,ravishing.TheQueenoftheFields,decoratedwith
garlandsofflowers,earsofcorn,bunchesofherbs.
At her left-hand side, a young stag pattered on stiff legs, at her right
rustledanenormoushedgehog.
“Dana Meadbh,” saidFilavandrelwith veneration. Andthen bowed and
knelt.
Theremainingelvesalsoknelt;slowly,reluctantly,theyfelltotheirknees
oneaftertheotherandbowedtheirheadslowinveneration.Toruvielwasthe
lasttokneel.
“Hael,DanaMeadbh,”repeatedFilavandrel.
Lilledidn’tanswer.Shestoppedseveralpacesshortoftheelfandswept
her blue eyes over Dandilion and Geralt. Torque, while bowing, started
cuttingthroughtheknots.NoneoftheSeidhemoved.
Lillestoodin front of Filavandrel.Shedidn’tsay anything, didn’tmake
196
theslightestsound,butthewitchersawthechangesontheelf’sface,sensed
the aura surrounding them and was in no doubt they were communicating.
Thedevilsuddenlypulledathissleeve.
“Your friend,” he bleated quietly, “has decided to faint. Right on time.
Whatshallwedo?”
“Slaphimacrossthefaceacoupleoftimes.”
“Withpleasure.”
Filavandrel got up from his knees. At his command, the elves fell to
saddlingthehorsesasquickaslightning.
“Comewithus,DanaMeadbh,”saidthewhite-hairedelf.“Weneedyou.
Don’t abandon us, Eternal One. Don’t deprive us of your love. We’ll die
withoutit.”
Lille slowly shook her head and indicated east, the direction of the
mountains. The elf bowed, crumpling the ornate reins of his white-maned
mountinhishands.
Dandilion walked up, pale and dumbfounded, supported by the sylvan.
Lille looked at him and smiled. She looked into the witcher’s eyes. She
lookedlong.Shedidn’tsayaword.Wordsweren’tnecessary.
Most of the elves were already in their saddles when Filavandrel and
Toruvielapproached.Geraltlookedintotheelf’sblackeyes,visibleabovethe
bandages.
“Toruviel…”hesaid.Anddidn’tfinish.
The elf nodded. From her saddlebow, she took a lute, a marvelous
instrument of light, tastefully inlaid wood with a slender, engraved neck.
Without a word, she handed the lute to Dandilion. The poet accepted the
instrumentandsmiled.Alsowithoutaword,buthiseyessaidagreatdeal.
“Farewell, strange human,” Filavandrel said quietly to Geralt. “You’re
right.Wordsaren’tnecessary.Theywon’tchangeanything.”
Geraltremainedsilent.
“After some consideration,” added the Seidhe, “I’ve come to the
conclusion that you were right. When you pitied us. So goodbye. Goodbye
until we meet again, on the day when we descend into the valleys to die
honorably.We’lllookoutforyouthen,ToruvielandI.Don’tletusdown.”
Foralongtime,theylookedateachotherinsilence.Andthenthewitcher
answeredbrieflyandsimply:
“I’lltry.”
197
198
VII
“By the gods, Geralt.” Dandilion stopped playing, hugged the lute and
touched it with his cheek. “This wood sings on its own! These strings are
alive! What wonderfultonality! Bloody hell, acouple of kicksand a bitof
fearisaprettylowpricetopayforsuchasuperblute.I’dhaveletmyselfbe
kickedfromdawntoduskifI’dknownwhatIwasgoingtoget.Geralt?Are
youlisteningtomeatall?”
“It’sdifficultnottohearyoutwo.”Geraltraisedhisheadfromthebook
andglancedatthesylvan,whowasstillstubbornlysqueakingon apeculiar
set of pipes made from reeds of various lengths. “I hear you; the whole
neighborhoodhearsyou.”
“Duvvelsheyss,notneighborhood.”Torqueputhispipesaside.“Adesert,
that’swhatitis.Awilderness.Ashit-hole.Eh,Imissmyhemp!”
“Hemisseshishemp,”laughedDandilion,carefullyturningthedelicately
engravedlutepegs.“Youshouldhavesatinthethicketquietasadormouse
insteadofscaringgirls,destroyingdykesandsullyingthewell.Ithinkyou’re
goingtobemorecarefulnowandgiveupyourtricks,eh,Torque?”
“Iliketricks,”declaredthesylvan,baringhisteeth.“AndIcan’timagine
lifewithoutthem.Buthaveityourway.Ipromisetobemorecarefulonnew
territory.I’llbemorerestrained.”
The night was cloudy and windy. The gale beat down the reeds and
rustledinthebranchesofthebushessurroundingtheircamp.Dandilionthrew
somedrytwigsintothefire.Torque wriggled around on his makeshift bed,
swipingmosquitoesawaywithhistail.Afishleaptinthelakewithasplash.
“I’lldescribeourwholeexpeditiontotheedgeoftheworldinaballad,”
declaredDandilion.“AndI’lldescribeyouinit,too,Torque.”
“Don’t think you’ll get away with it,” growled the sylvan. “I’ll write a
balladtoo,then,anddescribeyou,butinsuchawayasyouwon’tbeableto
showyourfaceindecentcompanyfortwelveyears.Sowatchout!
Geralt?”
“What?”
“Have you read anything interesting in that book which you so
disgracefullywheedledoutofthosefreemen?”
“Ihave.”
“Soreadittous,beforethefireburnsout.”
“Yes,yes”—DandilionstrummedthemelodiousstringsofToruviel’slute
199
—“readussomething,Geralt.”
Thewitcherleanedonhiselbow,edgingthevolumeclosertothefire.
“‘Glimpsedshemaybe,’”hebegan,“‘duringthetimeofsumor,from
thedaysofMaiandJuyntothedaysofOctober,butmostoftthishapsonthe
FesteoftheScythe,whichancientswouldcallLammas.Sherevealethherself
astheFairhairedLadie,inflowersall,andallthatlivethfollowethherpath
andclingethtoher,asone,plantorbeast.HencehernameisLyfia.Ancients
call her Danamebi and venerate her greatly. Even the Bearded, albeit in
mountainsnotonfieldstheydwell,respectandcallherBloemenmagde.’”
“Danamebi,”mutteredDandilion.“DanaMeadbh,theLadyoftheFields.”
“ ‘Whence Lyfia treads the earth blossometh and bringeth forth, and
abundantly doth each creature breed, such is her might. All nations to her
offersacrificeofharvestinvainhopetheirfield notanother’swillbyLyfia
visitedbe.BecauseitisalsosaidthattherecomethadayatendwhenLyfia
willcometosettleamongthattribewhichaboveallotherswillrise,butthese
bemerewomenfolktales.Because,forsooth,thewisedosaythatLyfialoveth
but One land and that which groweth on it and liveth alike, with no
difference,beitthesmallestofcommonappletreesorthemostwretchedof
insects,andallnationsarenomoretoherthanthatthinnestoftreesbecause,
forsooth,theytoowillbegoneandnew,differenttribeswillfollow.ButLyfia
eternalis,wasandevershallbeuntiltheendoftime.’”
“Until the end of time!” sang the troubadour and strummed his lute.
Torquejoinedinwithahightrillonhisreedpipes.“Hail,LadyoftheFields!
Fortheharvest,fortheflowersinDolBlathanna,butalsoforthehideofthe
undersigned,whichyousavedfrombeingriddledwitharrows.Doyouknow
what?I’mgoingtotellyousomething.”Hestoppedplaying,huggedthelute
like a child and grew sad. “I don’t think I’ll mention the elves and the
difficultiesthey’vegottostrugglewith,intheballad.There’dbenoshortage
of scum wanting to go into the mountains… Why hasten the—” The
troubadourgrewsilent.
“Go on, finish,” said Torque bitterly. “You wanted to say: hasten what
can’tbeavoided.Theinevitable.”
“Let’s not talk about it,” interrupted Geralt. “Why talk about it? Words
aren’tnecessary.FollowLille’sexample.”
“Shespoketotheelftelepathically,”mutteredthebard.“Isensedit.I’m
right,aren’tI,Geralt?Afterall,youcansensecommunicationlikethat.Did
youunderstandwhat…whatshewasgettingacrosstotheelf?”
“Someofit.”
200
“Whatwasshetalkingabout?”
“Hope.Thatthingsrenewthemselves,andwon’tstopdoingso.”
“Isthatall?”
“Thatwasenough.”
“Hmm… Geralt? Lille lives in the village, among people Do you think
that—”
“—thatshe’llstaywiththem?Here,inDolBlathanna?Maybe.If…”
“Ifwhat?”
“Ifpeopleproveworthyofit.Iftheedgeoftheworldremainstheedgeof
theworld.Ifwerespecttheboundaries.Butenoughofthistalk,boys.Timeto
sleep.”
“True. It’s nearly midnight; the fire’s burning out. I’ll sit up for a little
whileyet.I’vealwaysfounditeasiesttoinventrhymesbesideadyingfire.
AndIneedatitleformyballad.Anicetitle.”
“MaybeTheEdgeoftheWorld?”
“Banal,” snorted the poet. “Even if it really is the edge, it’s got to be
describeddifferently.Metaphorically.Itakeityouknowwhatametaphoris,
Geralt?Hmm…Letmethink…‘Where…’Bloodyhell.‘Where—’”
“Goodnight,”saidthedevil.
201
THEVOICEOFREASON
202
I
Thewitcherunlacedhisshirtandpeeledthewetlinenfromhisneck.Itwas
verywarminthecave,hot,even,theairhungheavyandmoist,thehumidity
condensingindropletsonthemoss-coveredbouldersandbasaltblocksofthe
walls.
Plants were everywhere. They grew out of beds hewn into the bedrock
and filled with peat, in enormous chests, troughs and flowerpots. They
climbeduprocks,upwoodentrellisesandstakes.Geraltexaminedthemwith
interest, recognizing some rare specimens—those which made up the
ingredients of a witcher’s medicines and elixirs, magical philters and a
sorcerer’s decoctions, and others, even rarer, whose qualities he could only
guess at. Some he didn’t know at all, or hadn’t even heard of. He saw
stretches of star-leafed melilote, compact balls of puffheads pouring out of
huge flowerpots, shoots ofarenaria strewn with berriesasred as blood.He
recognized the meaty, thickly veined leaves of fastaim, the crimson-golden
ovals of measure-me-nots and the dark arrows of sawcuts. He noticed
pinnatedpondbloodmosshuddledagainststoneblocks,theglisteningtubers
ofraven’seyeandthetiger-stripedpetalsofthemouse-tailorchid.
Intheshadypartofthegrottobulgedcapsofthese-wantmushroom,gray
asstonesinafield.Notfarfromthemgrewreachcluster,anantidotetoevery
known toxin and venom. The modest yellow-gray brushes peering from
chests deeply sunken into the ground revealed scarix, a root with powerful
anduniversalmedicinalqualities.
Thecenterof thecavewastakenup byaqueousplants.Geralt saw vats
fullofhornwortandturtleduckweed,andtankscoveredinacompactskinof
liverwort,fodderfortheparasiticgiantoyster.Glassreservoirsfullofgnarled
rhizomes of the hallucinogenic bitip, slender, dark-green cryptocorines and
clusters of nematodes. Muddy, silted troughs were breeding grounds for
innumerablephycomycetes,algae,moldsandswamplichen.
Nenneke, rolling up the sleeves of her priestess’s robe, took a pair of
scissorsandalittlebonerakefromherbasketandgottowork.Geraltsatona
benchbetweenshaftsoflightfallingthroughhugecrystalblocksinthecave’s
vault.
Thepriestessmutteredandhummedunderherbreath,deftlyplungingher
hands into the thicket of leaves and shoots, snipping with her scissors and
fillingthebasketwithbunchesofweeds.Sheadjustedthestakesandframes
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supportingtheplantsand,nowandagain,turnedthesoilwithhersmallrake.
Sometimes, muttering angrily, she pulled out dried or rotted stalks, threw
themintothehumuscontainersasfoodformushroomsandothersquamous
andsnake-liketwistedplantswhichthewitcherdidn’trecognize.Hewasn’t
evensurethey were plantsatall—itseemed to himtheglisteningrhizomes
movedalittle,stretchingtheirhair-likeoffshootstowardthepriestess’shands.
Itwaswarm.Verywarm.
“Geralt?”
“Yes?”Hefoughtoffanoverwhelmingsleepiness.Nenneke,playingwith
her scissors, was looking at him from behind the huge pinnated leaves of
sand-spurryflybush.
“Don’tleaveyet.Stay.Afewmoredays.”
“No,Nenneke.It’stimeformetobeonmyway.”
“Whythehurry?Youdon’thavetoworryaboutHere-ward.Andletthat
vagabondDandiliongoandbreakhisneckonhisown.Stay,Geralt.”
“No,Nenneke.”
Thepriestesssnippedwithscissors.“Areyouinsuchhastetoleavethe
templebecauseyou’reafraidthatshe’llfindyouhere?”
“Yes,”headmittedreluctantly.“You’veguessed.”
“It wasn’texactly difficult,”she muttered. “But don’t worry. Yennefer’s
alreadybeenhere.Twomonthsago.Shewon’tbebackinahurry,becausewe
quarreled.No,notbecauseofyou.Shedidn’taskaboutyou.”
“Shedidn’task?”
“That’swhereithurts,”thepriestesslaughed.“You’reegocentric,likeall
men. There’s nothing worse than a lack of interest, is there? Than
indifference? No, but don’t lose heart. I know Yennefer only too well. She
didn’taskanything,butshedidlookaroundattentively,lookingforsignsof
you.Andshe’smightyfuriousatyou,thatIdidfeel.”
“Whatdidyouquarrelabout?”
“Nothingthatwouldinterestyou.”
“Iknowanyway.”
“Idon’tthinkso,”saidNennekecalmly,adjustingthestakes.“Youknow
herverysuperficially.As,incidentally,sheknowsyou.It’squitetypicalofthe
relationshipwhichbindsyou,ordidbindyou.Bothpartiesaren’tcapableof
anything other than a strongly emotional evaluation of the consequences,
whileignoringthecauses.”
“She came looking for a cure,” he remarked coldly. “That’s what you
quarreledabout,admitit.”
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“Iwon’tadmitanything.”
Thewitchergotupandstoodinfulllightunderoneofthecrystalsheetsin
thegrotto’svault.
“Come here a minute, Nenneke. Take a look at this.” He unknotted a
secret pocket in his belt, dug out a tiny bundle, a miniature purse made of
goat-leather,andpouredthecontentsintohispalm.
“Twodiamonds,aruby,threeprettynephrites,andaninterestingagate.”
Nenneke was knowledgeable about everything. “How much did they cost
you?”
“TwoandahalfthousandTemeriaorens.PaymentfortheWyzimstriga.”
“For a torn neck.” The priestess grimaced. “Oh, well, it’s a question of
price.Butyoudidwelltoturncashintothesetrinkets.Theorenisweakand
thecostofstonesinWyzimisn’thigh;it’stooneartothedwarves’minesin
Mahakam. If you sell those in Novigrad, you’ll get at least five hundred
Novigradcrowns,andthecrown,atpresent,standsatsixandahalforensand
isgoingup.”
“I’dlikeyoutotakethem.”
“Forsafekeeping?”
“No.Keepthenephritesforthetempleas,shallwesay,myofferingtothe
goddessMelitele.Andtheremainingstones…areforher.ForYennefer.Give
themtoherwhenshecomestovisityouagain,whichwillnodoubtbesoon.”
Nennekelookedhimstraightintheeyes.
“Iwouldn’tdothisifIwereyou.You’llmakeherevenmorefurious,if
that’s possible, believe me. Leave everything as it is, because you’re no
longerinapositiontomendanythingormakeanythingbetter.Runningaway
fromher,youbehaved…well,let’ssay,inamannernotparticularlyworthy
of a mature man. By trying to wipe away your guilt with precious stones,
you’llbehavelikeavery,veryover-matureman.Ireallydon’tknowwhatsort
ofmanIcanstandless.”
“Shewastoopossessive,”hemuttered,turningawayhisface.“Icouldn’t
standit.Shetreatedmelike—”
“Stop it,” she said sharply. “Don’t cry on my shoulder. I’m not your
mother, and I won’t be your confidante either. I don’t give a shit how she
treatedyouandIcareevenlesshowyoutreatedher.AndIdon’tintendtobe
ago-betweenorgivethesestupidjewelstoher.Ifyouwanttobeafool,doit
withoutusingmeasanintermediary.”
“Youmisunderstand.I’mnotthinkingofappeasingorbribingher.ButI
doowehersomething,andthetreatmentshewantstoundergoisapparently
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verycostly.Iwanttohelpher,that’sall.”
“You’remoreofanidiotthanIthought.”Nennekepickedupthebasket
fromtheground.“Acostlytreatment?Help?Geralt,thesejewelsofyoursare,
toher,knickknacksnotworthspittingon.DoyouknowhowmuchYennefer
canearnforgettingridofanunwantedpregnancyforagreatlady?”
“Idohappentoknow.Andthatsheearnsevenmoreforcuringinfertility.
It’s ashameshecan’thelp herself inthatrespect.That’swhyshe’sseeking
helpfromothers—likeyou.”
“Noonecanhelpher;it’simpossible.She’sasorceress.Likemostfemale
magicians,herovariesareatrophiedandit’sirreversible.She’llneverbeable
tohavechildren.”
“Not all sorceresses are handicapped in this respect. I know something
aboutthat,andyoudo,too.”
Nennekeclosedhereyes.“Yes,Ido.”
“Somethingcan’tbearuleifthereareexceptionstoit.Andpleasedon’t
give me any banal untruths about exceptions proving the rule. Tell me
somethingaboutexceptionsassuch.”
“Only one thing,” she said coldly, “can be said about exceptions. They
exist. Nothing more. But Yennefer… Well, unfortunately, she isn’t an
exception.Atleastnotasregardsthehandicapwe’retalkingabout.Inother
respectsit’shardtofindagreaterexceptionthanher.”
“Sorcerers”—Geraltwasn’tputoffbyNenneke’scoldness,orherallusion
—“have raised the dead. I know of proven cases. And it seems to me that
raisingthedeadisharderthanreversingtheatrophyofanyorgans.”
“You’re mistaken. Because I don’t know of one single, proven, fully
successfulcaseofreversingatrophyorregeneratingendocrineglands.Geralt,
that’senough.Thisisbeginningtosoundlikeaconsultation.Youdon’tknow
anythingaboutthesethings.Ido.AndifItellyouthatYenneferhaspaidfor
certaingiftsbylosingothers,thenthat’showitis.”
“Ifit’ssoclear,thenIdon’tunderstandwhyshekeepsontryingto—”
“Youunderstandverylittle,”interruptedthepriestess.“Bloodylittle.Stop
worryingaboutYennefer’scomplaintsandthinkaboutyourown.Yourbody
wasalsosubjectedtochangeswhichareirreversible.She surprisesyou, but
whataboutyou?Itoughttobecleartoyoutoo,thatyou’renevergoingtobe
human,butyoustillkeeptryingtobeone.Makinghumanmistakes.Mistakes
awitchershouldn’tbemaking.”
Heleanedagainstthewallofthecaveandwipedthesweatfromhisbrow.
“You’re not answering,” stated Nenneke, smiling faintly. “I’m not
206
surprised.It’snoteasytospeakwiththevoiceofreason.You’resick,Geralt.
You’renotfullyfit.Youreacttoelixirsbadly.You’vegotarapidpulserate,
thedilationofyoureyesisslow,yourreactionsaredelayed.Youcan’tgetthe
simplestSigns right. And you wanttohit the trail? You havetobe treated.
Youneedtherapy.Andbeforethat,atrance.”
“Is that why you sent Iola to me? As part of the therapy? To make the
tranceeasier?”
“You’reafool!”
“Butnottosuchanextent.”
Nenneke turned away and slipped her hands among the meaty stalks of
creeperswhichthewitcherdidn’trecognize.
“Well,haveityourway,”shesaideasily.“Yes,Isenthertoyou.Aspart
of the therapy. And let me tell you, it worked. Your reactions were much
better the following day. You were calmer. And Iola needed some therapy,
too.Don’tbeangry.”
“I’mnotangrybecauseofthetherapy,orbecauseofIola.”
“Butatthevoiceofreasonyou’rehearing?”
Hedidn’tanswer.
“A trance is necessary,” repeated Nenneke, glancing around at her cave
garden.“Iola’sready.She’smadebothphysicalandpsychiccontactwithyou.
Ifyouwanttoleave,let’sdoittonight.”
“No.Idon’twantto.Look,Nenneke,Iolamightstarttoprophesyduring
thetrance.Topredict,readthefuture.”
“That’sjustit.”
“Exactly.AndIdon’twanttoknowthefuture.HowcouldIdowhatI’m
doingifIknewit?Besides,Iknowitanyway.”
“Areyousure?”Hedidn’tanswer.“Oh,well,allright,”shesighed.“Let’s
go.Oh,and,Geralt?I don’tmean to pry but tellme…Howdid you meet?
YouandYennefer?Howdiditallstart?”
The witcher smiled. “It started with me and Dandilion not having
anythingforbreakfastanddecidingtocatchsomefish.”
“AmItounderstandthatinsteadoffishyoucaughtYennefer?”
“I’lltellyouwhathappened.Butmaybeaftersupper.I’mhungry.”
“Let’sgo,then.I’vegoteverythingIneed.”
Thewitchermadeamovetowardtheexitandoncemorelookedaround
thecavehothouse.
“Nenneke?”
“Aha?”
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“Half of the plants you’vegotheredon’tgrow anywhereelseanymore.
AmIright?”
“Yes.Morethanhalf.”
“Howcome?”
“If I said it was through the goddess Melitele’s grace, I daresay that
wouldn’tbeenoughforyou,wouldit?”
“Idaresayitwouldn’t.”
“That’swhatIthought.”Nennekesmiled.“Yousee,Geralt,thisbrightsun
ofoursisstillshining,butnotquitethewayitusedto.Readthegreatbooksif
youlike.Butif you don’twant to waste timeonit,maybeyou’ll be happy
with the explanation that the crystal roof acts like a filter. It eliminates the
lethalrayswhichareincreasinglyfoundinsunlight.That’swhyplantswhich
youcan’tseegrowingwildanywhereintheworldgrowhere.”
“Iunderstand.”Thewitchernodded.“Andus,Nenneke?Whataboutus?
Thesunshinesonus,too.Shouldn’tweshelterunderarooflikethat?”
“Inprinciple,yes,”sighedthepriestess.“But…”
“Butwhat?”
“It’stoolate.”
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THELASTWISH
209
I
The catfish stuck its barbelled head above the surface, tugged with force,
splashed,stirredthewaterandflasheditswhitebelly.
“Careful,Dandilion!”shoutedthewitcher,digginghisheelsintothewet
sand.“Holdhim,damnit!”
“Iamholdinghim…”groanedthepoet.“Heavens,whatamonster!It’sa
leviathan,notafish!There’llbesomegoodeatingonthat,deargods!”
“Loosenit.Loosenitorthelinewillsnap!”
Thecatfishclungtothebedandthrewitselfagainstthecurrenttowardthe
bend in the river. The line hissed as Dandilion’s and Geralt’s gloves
smoldered.
“Pull,Geralt,pull!Don’tloosenitorit’llgettangledupintheroots!”
“Thelinewillsnap!”
“No,itwon’t.Pull!”
Theyhunchedupandpulled.Thelinecutthewaterwithahiss,vibrated
and scattered droplets which glistened like mercury in the rising sun. The
catfishsuddenlysurfaced,setthewaterseethingjustbelow thesurface,and
thetensionofthelineeased.Theyquicklystartedtogatheruptheslack.
“We’llsmokeit,”pantedDandilion.“We’lltakeittothevillageandgetit
smoked.Andwe’llusetheheadforsoup!”
“Careful!”
Feelingtheshallowsunderitsbelly,thecatfishthrew halfofitstwelve-
foot-longbodyoutofthewater,tosseditshead,whackeditsflattailandtook
asharpdiveintothedepths.Theirglovessmolderedanew.
“Pull,pull!Tothebank,thesonofabitch!”
“Thelineiscreaking!Loosenit,Dandilion!”
“It’llhold,don’tworry!We’llcookthehead…forsoup…”
Thecatfish,draggedneartothebankagain,surgedandstrainedfuriously
againstthemasiftoletthemknowhewasn’tthateasytogetintothepot.The
sprayflewsixfeetintotheair.
“We’ll sell the skin…” Dandilion, red with effort, pulled the line with
bothhands.“Andthebarbels…We’llusethebarbelstomake—”
Nobody ever found out what the poet was going to make from the
catfish’s barbels. The line snapped with a crack and both fishermen, losing
theirbalance,fellontothewetsand.
“Bloodyhell!” Dandilionyelledso loudthatthe echoresoundedthough
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theosiers.“Somuchgrubescaped!Ihopeyoudie,youson-of-a-catfish.”
“Itoldyou.” Geralt shook his wet trousers. “I told you not to use force
whenyoupull.Youscrewedup,myfriend.Youmakeasgoodafishermanas
agoat’sarsemakesatrumpet.”
“That’s nottrue.” The troubadour wasoutraged. “It’s my doingthat the
monstertookthebaitinthefirstplace.”
“Ohreally?Youdidn’tliftafingertohelpmesettheline.Youplayedthe
luteandholleredsothewholeneighborhoodcouldhearyou,nothingmore.”
“You’re wrong.” Dandilion bared his teeth. “When you fell asleep, you
see,Itookthegrubsoffthehookandattachedadeadcrow,whichI’dfound
inthebushes.Iwantedtoseeyourfaceinthemorningwhenyoupulledthe
crowout.Andthecatfishtookthecrow.Yourgrubswouldhavecaughtshit-
all.”
“They would have, they would have.” The witcher spat into the water,
winding the line on to a little wooden rake. “But it snapped because you
tugged like an idiot. Wind up the rest of the lines instead of gabbling. The
sun’salreadyup;it’stimetogo.I’mgoingtopackup.”
“Geralt!”
“What?”
“There’s something on the other line, too… No, dammit, it only got
caught.Hell,it’sholdinglikeastone.Ican’tdoit!Ah,that’sit…Ha,ha,look
whatI’mbringingin.ItmustbethewreckofabargefromKingDezmod’s
time!Whatgreatstuff!Look,Geralt!”
Dandilion was clearly exaggerating; the clump of rotted ropes, net and
algaepulledoutofthewaterwasimpressivebutitwasfarfrombeingthesize
ofabargedatingfromthedaysofthelegendaryking.Thebardscatteredthe
jumbleoverthebankandbegantodigaroundinitwiththetipofhisshoe.
Thealgaewasalivewithleeches,scudsandlittlecrabs.
“Ha!LookwhatI’vefound!”
Geralt approached, curious. The find was a chipped stoneware jar,
something like a two-handled amphora, tangled up in netting, black with
rotten algae, colonies of caddis-larvae and snails, dripping with stinking
slime.
“Ha!”Dandilionexclaimedagain,proudly.“Doyouknowwhatthisis?”
“It’sanoldpot.”
“You’re wrong,” declared the troubadour, scraping away shells and
hardened, shiny clay. “This is a charmed jar. There’s a djinn inside who’ll
fulfillmythreewishes.”
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Thewitchersnorted.
“Youcanlaugh.”Dandilionfinishedhisscraping,bentoverandrinsedthe
amphora.“Butthere’sasealonthespigotandawizard’smarkontheseal.”
“Whatmark?Let’ssee.”
“Oh,sure.”Thepoethidthejarbehindhisback.“Andwhatmoredoyou
want?I’mtheonewhofounditandIneedallthewishes.”
“Don’ttouchthatseal!Leaveitalone!”
“Letgo,Itellyou!It’smine!”
“Dandilion,becareful!”
“Sure!”
“Don’ttouchit!Oh,bloodyhell!”
Thejarfelltothesandduringtheirscuffle,andluminousredsmokeburst
forth.
The witcher jumped back and rushed toward the camp for his sword.
Dandilion,foldinghisarmsacrosshischest,didn’tmove.
The smoke pulsated and collected in an irregular sphere level with
Dandilion’s eyes. Thesphereformedasix-foot-wide distorted head withno
nose,enormouseyesandasortofbeak.
“Djinn!” said Dandilion, stamping his foot. “I freed thee and as of this
day,Iamthylord.Mywishes—”
Theheadsnappeditsbeak,whichwasn’treallyabeakbutsomethingin
theshapeofdrooping,deformedandever-changinglips.
“Run!”yelledthewitcher.“Run,Dandilion!”
“My wishes,” continued the poet, “are as follows. Firstly, may Valdo
Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, die of apoplexy as soon as possible.
Secondly,there’sacount’sdaughterinCaelfcalledVirginiawhorefusesall
advances.Mayshesuccumbtomine.Thirdly—”
NooneeverfoundoutDandilion’sthirdwish.
Two monstrous paws emerged from the horrible head and grabbed the
bardbythethroat.Dandilionscreeched.
Geraltreachedtheheadinthreeleaps,swipedhissilverswordandslashed
it through the middle. The air howled, the head exhaled smokeand rapidly
doubled in diameter. The monstrous jaw, now also much larger, flew open,
snappedand whistled; the paws pulled the struggling Dandilion around and
crushedhimtotheground.
The witcher crossed his fingers in the Sign of Aard and threw as much
energyashecouldmusteratthehead.Theenergymaterializedinablinding
beam, sliced through the glow surrounding the head and hit its mark. The
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boomwassoloudthatitstabbedGeralt’sears,andtheairsuckedinbythe
implosionmadethewillowsrustle.Theroarofthemonsterwasdeafeningas
itgrewevenlarger,butitreleasedthepoet,soaredup,circledand,wavingits
paws,flewawayoverthewater.
ThewitcherrushedtopullDandilion—whowaslyingmotionless—away.
Atthatmoment,hisfingerstouchedaroundobjectburiedinthesand.
Itwasabrasssealdecoratedwiththesignofabrokencrossandanine-
pointedstar.
Thehead,suspendedabovetheriver,hadbecomethesizeofahaystack,
whiletheopen,roaringjawslookedlikethegatesofan average-sizedbarn.
Stretchingoutitspaws,themonsterattacked.
Geralt,nothavingtheleastideaofwhattodo,squeezedthesealinhisfist
and, extending his hand toward theassailant, screamed outthe wordsof an
exorcism a priestess had once taught him. He had never used those words
untilnowbecause,inprinciple,hedidn’tbelieveinsuperstitions.
Theeffectsurpassedhisexpectations.
Thesealhissedandgrewhot,burninghishand.Thegiganticheadfrozein
theair,suspended,motionlessabovetheriver.Ithunglikethatforamoment
then,atlast,itbegantohowl,roar,anddispersedintoapulsatingbundleof
smoke, into a huge, whirling cloud. The cloud whined shrilly and whisked
upstream with incredible speed, leaving a trail of churned-up water on the
surface. In a matterof seconds,it had disappeared into thedistance;only a
dwindlinghowllingeredacrossthewater.
Thewitcherrushedtothepoet,coweringonthesand.
“Dandilion? Are you dead? Dandilion, damn it! What’s the matter with
you?”
The poet jerked his head, shook his hands and opened his mouth to
scream.Geralt grimacedandnarrowed hiseyes—Dandilionhad a trained—
loud—tenorvoiceand,whenfrightened,couldreachextraordinaryregisters.
Butwhatemergedfromthebard’sthroatwasabarelyaudible,hoarsecroak.
“Dandilion!What’sthematterwithyou?Answerme!”
“Hhhh…eeee…kheeeee…theeeewhhhhorrrrrrre…”
“Areyouinpain?What’sthematter?Dandilion!”
“Hhhh…Whhhooo…”
“Don’tsayanything.Ifeverything’sallright,nod.”
Dandilion grimaced and, with great difficulty, nodded and then
immediately turned on his side, curled up and—choking and coughing—
vomitedblood.
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Geraltcursed.
214
II
“Byallthegods!”Theguardsteppedbackandloweredthelantern.“What’s
thematterwithhim?”
“Let us through, my good man,” said the witcher quietly, supporting
Dandilion,whowashuddledupinthesaddle.“We’reingreathaste,asyou
see.”
“I do.” The guard swallowed, looking at the poet’s pale face and chin
coveredinblack,driedblood.“Wounded?Itlooksterrible,sir.”
“I’minhaste,”repeatedGeralt.“We’vebeentravelingsincedawn.Letus
through,please.”
“Wecan’t,”saidtheotherguard.“You’reonlyallowedthroughbetween
sunriseandsunset.Nonemaypassatnight.That’stheorder.There’snoway
throughforanyoneunlessthey’vegotaletterofsafe-conductfromtheking
orthemayor.Orthey’renobilitywithacoatofarms.”
Dandilion croaked, huddled up even more, resting his forehead on the
horse’s mane, shuddered,shookandretcheddryly. Another streamofblood
trickleddownthebranched,driedpatternonhismount’sneck.
“My good men,” Geralt said as calmly as he could, “you can see for
yourselveshowbadlyhefares.Ihavetofindsomeonewhocantreathim.Let
usthrough.Please.”
“Don’task.”Theguardleanedonhishalberd.“Ordersareorders.I’llgo
to the pillory if I let you through. They’ll chase me from service, and then
howwillIfeedmychildren?No,sir,Ican’t.Takeyourfrienddownfromthe
horseandputhimintheroominthebarbican.We’lldresshimandhe’lllast
outuntildawn,ifthat’shisfate.It’snotlongnow.”
“A dressing’s not enough.” The witcher ground his teeth. “We need a
healer,apriest,agifteddoctor—”
“Youwouldn’tbewakingupanyonelikethatatnightanyway,”saidthe
secondguard.“Themost we can do isseethatyoudon’thave to camp out
under the gateuntil dawn. It’s warm inthere and there’s somewhere toput
yourfriend;he’llfarebettertherethaninthesaddle.Comeon,letushelpyou
lowerhimfromthehorse.”
It was warm, stuffy and cozy in the room within the barbican. A fire
crackledmerrilyinthehearth,andbehinditacricketchirpedfiercely.
Threemensatattheheavysquaretablelaidwithjugsandplates.
“Forgive us for disturbing you, squires…” said the guard, holding
215
Dandilionup. “I trust you won’tmind…Thisonehere is a knight, hmm…
Andtheotheroneiswounded,soIthought—”
“Youthoughtwell.”Oneofthementurnedhisslender,sharp,expressive
facetowardthemandgotup.“Herelayhimdownonthepallet.”
Themanwasanelf,liketheotheronesittingatthetable.Both,judging
by their clothes, which were a typicalmixture of humanandelvenfashion,
were elves who had settled and integrated. The third man, who looked the
eldest,washuman,aknight,judgingbythewayhewasdressedandbyhis
salt-and-pepperhair,cuttofitbeneathahelmet.
“I’m Chireadan,” the taller of the elves, with an expressive face,
introduced himself. As was usual with representatives of the Old People, it
wasdifficulttoguesshisage;hecouldhavebeentwentyoronehundredand
twenty.“ThisismycousinErrdil.AndthisnoblemanistheknightVratimir.”
“A nobleman,” muttered Geralt, but a closer look at the coat of arms
embroideredonhistunicshatteredhishopes:ashielddividedpercrossand
bearinggoldenlilieswascutdiagonallybyasilverbar.Vratimirwasnotonly
illegitimate but came from a mixed, human-nonhuman union. As a result,
althoughhewasentitledtouseacoatofarms,hecouldn’tconsiderhimselfa
true nobleman, and the privilege of crossing the city gate after dusk most
certainlywasn’textendedtohim.
“Unfortunately”—thewitcher’sscrutinydidnotescapetheelf’sattention
—“we,too,havetoremainhereuntildawn.Thelawknowsnoexceptions,at
leastnotforthelikesofus.Weinviteyoutojoinourcompany,sirknight.”
“Geralt, of Rivia” the witcher introduced himself. “A witcher, not a
knight.”
“What’sthematterwithhim?”ChireadanindicatedDandilion,whomthe
guardshadlaidonapalletinthemeantime.“Itlookslikepoisoning.Ifitis
poisoning,thenIcanhelp.I’vegotsomegoodmedicinewithme.”
Geralt sat down, then quickly gave a guarded account of events at the
river.Theelveslookedateachother,andtheknightspatthroughhisteethand
frowned.
“Extraordinary,”Chireadanremarked.“Whatcouldithavebeen?”
“Adjinninabottle,”mutteredVratimir.“Likeafairytale—”
“Notquite.”GeraltindicatedDandilion,curleduponthepallet.“Idon’t
knowofanyfairytalethatendslikethis.”
“Thatpoorfellow’sinjuries,”saidChireadan,“areevidentlyofamagical
nature. I fear that my medicine will not be of much use. But I can at least
lessenhissuffering.Haveyoualreadygivenhimaremedy,Geralt?”
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“Apainkillingelixir.”
“Comeandhelpme.Youcanholdhisheadup.”
Dandiliongreedilydrankthemedicine,dilutedwithwine,chokedonhis
lastsip,wheezedandcoveredtheleatherpillowwithspittle.
“I know him,” Errdil said. “He’s Dandilion, the troubadour and poet. I
sawhimsingingatthecourtofKingEthaininCidarisonce.”
“Atroubadour,”repeatedChireadan,lookingatGeralt.“That’sbad.Very
bad. The musclesof his neckand throat are attacked.Changes in hisvocal
cordsarestartingtotakeplace.Thespell’sactionhastobehaltedassoonas
possibleotherwise…Thismightbeirreversible.”
“Thatmeans…Doesthatmeanhewon’tbeabletotalk?”
“Talk,yes.Maybe.Notsing.”
Geraltsatdownatthetablewithoutsayingawordandrestedhisforehead
onhisclenchedfists.
“A wizard,” said Vratimir. “A magical remedy or a curative spell is
needed.Youhavetotakehimtosomeothertown,witcher.”
“What?”Geraltraisedhishead.“Andhere,inRinde?Isn’tthereawizard
here?”
“MagiciansarehardtocomebyinthewholeofRedania,”saidtheknight.
“Isn’tthattrue?EversinceKingHeribertplacedanexorbitanttaxonspells,
magicianshaveboycottedthecapitalandthose townswhicharerigorousin
executingtheking’sedicts.AndthecouncilorsofRindearefamousfortheir
zealinthisrespect.Chireadan,Errdil,amIright?”
“Youare,”confirmedErrdil.“But…Chireadan,mayI?”
“Youhaveto,”saidChireadan,lookingatthewitcher.“There’snopoint
inmakingasecretofit;everyoneknowsanyway.There’sasorceressstaying
inthetownrightnow,Geralt.”
“Incognito,nodoubt?”
“Notvery.”Theelfsmiled.“Thesorceressinquestionissomethingofan
individualist. She’s ignoring both the boycott imposed on Rinde by the
CouncilofWizards,andthedispositionofthelocalcouncilors,andisdoing
rathersplendidlyoutofit:theboycottmeansthere’stremendousdemandfor
magicalserviceshereand,ofcourse,thesorceressisn’tpayinganylevies.”
“Andthetowncouncilputsupwithit?”
“Thesorceressisstayingwithamerchant,atradebrokerfromNovigrad,
who is also the honorary ambassador. Nobodycan touchher there.She has
asylum.”
“It’s more like house arrest than asylum,” corrected Errdil. “She’s just
217
aboutimprisonedthere.Butshehasnoshortageofclients.Richclients.She
ostentatiously makes light of the councilors, holds balls and extravagant
parties—”
“Whilethecouncilorsarefurious,turnwhoevertheycanagainstherand
tarnishherreputationasbesttheycan,”Chireadancutin.“Theyspreadfoul
rumorsaboutherandhope,nodoubt,thattheNovigradhierarchywillforbid
themerchanttograntherasylum.”
“Idon’tlikemeddlinginthingslikethat,”mutteredGeralt,“butI’vegot
nochoice.What’sthemerchant-ambassador’sname?”
“BeauBerrant.”
ThewitcherthoughtthatChireadangrimacedashepronouncedthename.
“Ohwell,itreallyisyouronlyhope.Orrather,theonlyhopeforthatpoor
fellowmoaningonthebed.Butwhetherthesorceresswillwanttohelpyou…
Idon’tknow.”
“Be careful when you go there,” said Errdil. “The mayor’s spies are
watchingthehouse.Youknowwhattodoiftheystopyou.Moneyopensall
doors.”
“I’llgoassoonastheyopenthegates.What’sthesorceresscalled?”
GeraltthoughthedetectedaslightflushonChireadan’sexpressiveface.
Butitcouldhavebeentheglowfromthefireinthehearth.
“YenneferofVergerberg.”
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III
“My lord’s asleep,” repeated the doorman, looking down at Geralt.He was
tallerbyaheadandnearlytwiceasbroadintheshoulders.“Areyoudeaf,you
vagabond?Thelord’sasleep,Isaid.”
“Thenlethimsleep,”agreedthewitcher.“I’venotgotbusinesswithyour
lordbutwiththeladywhoisstayinghere.”
“Business,yousay.”Thedoorman,asitturnedout,wassurprisinglywitty
for someone of such stature and appearance. “Then go, you loiterer, to the
whorehousetosatisfyyourneed.Scram.”
Geralt unfastened the purse on his belt and, holding it by the straps,
weigheditinhispalm.
“Youwon’tbribeme,”theCerberussaidproudly.
“Idon’tintendto.”
Theporterwastoohugetohavethereflexeswhichwouldlethimdodge
orshieldhimselffromaquickblowgivenbyanordinaryman.Hedidn’teven
havetimetoblinkbeforethewitcher’sblowlanded.Theheavypursestruck
him in the temple with a metallic crash. He collapsed against the door,
grabbingtheframewithbothhands.Geralttorehimawayfromitwithakick
intheknee,shovedhimwithhisshoulderandfetchedhimanotherblowwith
thepurse. Thedoorman’seyesgrew hazyanddivergedin acomicalsquint,
and his legs folded under him like two penknives. The witcher, seeing the
strapping fellow moving, although almost unconscious, walloped him with
forceforthethirdtime,rightonthecrownofhishead.
“Money,”hemuttered,“opensalldoors.”
It was dark in the vestibule. A loud snoring camefrom the door on the
left.Thewitcherpeepedincarefully.Afatwoman,hernightdresshitchedup
aboveherhips,wasasleeponatumbledpallet,snoringandsnortingthrough
hernose.Itwasn’tthemostbeautifulsight.Geraltdraggedtheporterintothe
littleroomandclosedthedoor.
Ontherightwasanotherdoor,half-opened,andbehinditstonestepsled
down.Thewitcherwasabouttopassthemwhenanindistinctcurse,aclatter
andthedrycrashofavesselcrackingreachedhimfrombelow.
The room was a big kitchen, full of utensils, smelling of herbs and
resinous wood. On the stone floor, among fragments of a clay jug, knelt a
completelynakedmanwithhisheadhanginglow.
“Apple juice, bloody hell,” he mumbled, shaking his head like a sheep
219
whichhadrammedawallbyamistake.“Apple…juice.Where…Where’re
theservants?”
“Ibegyourpardon?”thewitcheraskedpolitely.
The man raised hishead and swallowed. Hiseyes were vague andvery
bloodshot.
“She wants juice from apples,” he stated, then got up with evident
difficulty, sat down on a chest covered with a sheepskin coat, and leaned
againstthestove.“Ihaveto…takeitupstairsbecause—”
“DoIhavethepleasureofspeakingtothemerchantBeauBerrant?”
“Quieter.”Themangrimacedpainfully.“Don’tyell.Listen,inthatbarrel
there…Juice.Apple.Pouritintosomething…andhelp megetupstairs,all
right?”
Geralt shrugged, then nodded sympathetically. He generally avoided
overdoingthealcoholbutthestateinwhichthemerchantfoundhimselfwas
not entirely unknown to him. He found a jug and a tin mug among the
crockeryanddrewsomejuicefromthebarrel.Heheardsnoringandturned.
BeauBerrantwasfastasleep,hisheadhangingonhischest.
Foramoment,thewitcherconsideredpouringjuiceoverhimtowakehim
up, but he changed his mind. He left the kitchen, carrying the jug. The
corridor ended in a heavy inlaid door. He entered carefully, opening it just
enoughtoslipinside.Itwasdark,sohedilatedhispupils.Andwrinkledhis
nose.
A heavy smell of sour wine, candles and overripe fruit hung in the air.
Andsomethingelse,thatbroughttomindamixtureofthescentsoflilacand
gooseberries.
He looked around. The table in the middle of the chamber bore a
battlefield of jugs, carafes, goblets, silver plates, dishes and ivory-handled
cutlery. A creased tablecloth, which had been pushed aside, was soaked in
wine,coveredinpurplestainsandstiffwithwaxwhichhadtrickleddownthe
candlesticks.Orangepeelglowedlikeflowersamongplumandpeachstones,
pearcoresandgrapestalks.Agoblethadfallenoverandsmashed.Theother
wasinonepiece,halffull,withaturkeybonestickingoutofit.Nexttothe
gobletstoodablack,high-heeledslipper.Itwasmadeofbasiliskskin.There
wasn’tamoreexpensiverawmaterialwhichcouldbeusedinthemakingof
shoes.
Theotherslipperlayunderachairontopofacarelesslydiscardedblack
dresswithwhitefrillsandanembroideredflowerypattern.
ForamomentGeraltstoodundecided,strugglingwithembarrassmentand
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thedesiretoturnonhisheelandleave.Butthatwouldhavemeanthistussle
with the Cerberus below hadbeen unnecessary. And thewitcherdidn’tlike
doinganythingunnecessarily.Henoticedwindingstairsinthecornerofthe
chamber.
On the steps, he found four withered white roses and a napkin stained
with wine and crimson lipstick. The scent of lilac and gooseberries grew
stronger. The stairsledtoabedroom,thefloor of which was covered inan
enormous, shaggy animal skin. A white shirt with lace cuffs, and umpteen
whiteroses,layontheskin.Andablackstocking.
The other stocking hung from one of the four engraved posts which
supported the domed canopy over the bed. The engravings on the posts
depictednymphsandfawnsinvariouspositions.Someofthepositionswere
interesting.Othersfunny.Manyrepeatedthemselves.
Geralt cleared his throat loudly, looking at the abundant black locks
visiblefromundertheeiderdown.Theeiderdownmovedandmoaned.Geralt
clearedhisthroatevenlouder.
“Beau?” the abundance of black locks asked indistinctly. “Have you
broughtthejuice?”
“Yes.”
A pale triangular face, violet eyes and narrow, slightly contorted lips
appearedbeneaththeblacktresses.
“Ooooh…”Thelipsbecameevenmorecontorted.“Ooooh…I’mdyingof
thirst…”
“Hereyouare.”
The woman sat up, scrambling out of the bedclothes. She had pretty
shoulders, a shapelyneck and, aroundit, a black velvet choker with astar-
shaped jewel sparkling with diamonds. Apart from the choker, she had
nothingon.
“Thankyou.”Shetookthemugfromhishand,drankgreedily,thenraised
herarmsandtouchedhertemples.Theeiderdownslippeddownevenfurther.
Geraltavertedhiseyes—politely,butunwillingly.
“Whoare you?”askedtheblack-hairedwoman,narrowing hereyesand
coveringherselfwiththeeiderdown.“Whatareyoudoinghere?Andwhere,
dammit,isBerrant?”
“WhichquestionshallIanswerfirst?”
Heimmediatelyregrettedhissarcasm.Thewomanraisedherhandanda
goldenstreakshotoutfromherfingers.Geraltreactedinstinctively,crossing
bothhandsintheSignofHeliotrope,andcaughtthespelljustinfrontofhis
221
face,butthedischargewassostrongthatitthrewhimbackagainstthewall.
Hesanktothefloor.
“No need!” he shouted, seeing the woman raise her hand again. “Lady
Yennefer!Icomeinpeace,withnoevilintentions!”
A stamping came from the stairs and servants loomed in the bedroom
doorway.
“LadyYennefer!”
“Leave,”thesorceressorderedcalmly.“Idon’tneedyou.You’repaidto
keep an eye on the house. But since this individual has, nevertheless,
managedtogetin,I’lltakecareofhimmyself.PassthatontoBerrant.And
prepareabathforme.”
The witcher got up with difficulty. Yennefer observed him in silence,
narrowinghereyes.
“You parried my spell,” she finally said. “You’re not a sorcerer; that’s
obvious. But you reacted exceptionally fast. Tell me who you are, stranger
whohascomeinpeace.AndIadviseyoutospeakquickly.”
“I’mGeraltofRivia.Awitcher.”
Yenneferleanedoutofthebed,graspingafaun—engravedonthepole—
byapieceofanatomywelladaptedtobeinggrasped.Withouttakinghereyes
offGeralt,shepickedacoatwithafurcollarupoffthe floor and wrapped
herselfupinittightlybeforegettingup.Shepouredherselfanothermugof
juicewithouthurrying, drank itinonego, coughed andcamecloser.Geralt
discreetlyrubbedhislowerbackwhich,amomentago,hadcollidedpainfully
withthewall.
“Geralt of Rivia,” repeated the sorceress, looking at him from behind
blacklashes.“Howdidyougetinhere?Andforwhatreason?Youdidn’thurt
Berrant,Ihope?”
“No.Ididn’t.LadyYennefer,Ineedyourhelp.”
“Awitcher,”shemuttered,comingupevencloserandwrappingthecoat
aroundhermoretightly.“NotonlyisitthefirstoneI’veseenupclosebutit’s
noneotherthanthefamousWhiteWolf.I’veheardaboutyou.”
“Icanimagine.”
“I don’t know what you can imagine.” She yawned, then came even
closer. “May I?” She touched his cheek and looked him in the eyes. He
clenched his jaw. “Do your pupils automatically adapt to light or can you
narrowanddilatethemaccordingtoyourwill?”
“Yennefer,”hesaidcalmly,“IrodenonstopalldayfromRinde.Iwaited
allnightforthegatestoopen.Igaveyourdoorman,whodidn’twanttolet
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mein, a blow to the head. I disturbedyour sleep andpeace, discourteously
andimportunately.Allbecausemyfriendneedshelpwhichonlyyoucangive
him.Giveittohim,please,andthen,ifyoulike,wecantalkaboutmutations
andaberrations.”
She took a step back and contorted herlips unpleasantly. “Whatsort of
helpdoyoumean?”
“Theregenerationoforgansinjuredthroughmagic.Thethroat,larynxand
vocalcords.Aninjurycausedbyascarletmist.Orsomethingverymuchlike
it.”
“Very much like it,” she repeated. “To put it in a nutshell, it wasn’t a
scarletmistwhichhasinjuredyourfriend.Sowhatwasit?Speakout.Being
tornfrommysleepatdawn,Ihaveneitherthestrengthnorthedesiretoprobe
yourbrain.”
“Hmm…It’sbestIstartfromthebeginning.”
“Oh,no,”sheinterruptedhim.“Ifit’sallthatcomplicated,thenwait.An
aftertaste in my mouth, disheveled hair, sticky eyes and other morning
inconveniencesstronglyaffectmyperceptivefaculties.Godownstairstothe
bath-chamber in the cellar. I’ll be therein a minuteandthen you’ll tell me
everything.”
“Yennefer,Idon’twanttobepersistentbuttimeispressing.Myfriend—”
“Geralt,” she interrupted sharply, “I climbed out of bed for you and I
didn’t intend to do that before the chime of midday. I’m prepared to do
without breakfast. Do you know why? Because you brought me the apple
juice. You were in a hurry, your head was troubled with your friend’s
suffering, you forced your way in here, and yet you thought of a thirsty
woman.Youwonmeover,somyhelpisnotoutofthequestion.ButIwon’t
doanythingwithouthotwaterandsoap.Go.Please.”
“Verywell.”
“Geralt.”
“Yes.”Hestoppedonthethreshold.
“Makeuseoftheopportunitytohaveabathyourself.Icannotonlyguess
theageandbreedofyourhorse,butalsoitscolor,bythesmell.”
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IV
Sheenteredthebath-chamberjustasGeralt,sittingnakedonatinystool,was
pouringwateroverhimselffromabucket.Heclearedhisthroatandmodestly
turnedhisbacktoher.
“Don’tbeembarrassed,”shesaid,throwinganarmfulofclothingonthe
hook.“Idon’tfaintatthesightofanakedman.TrissMerigold,afriend,says
ifyou’veseenone,you’veseenthemall.”
Hegotup,wrappingatowelroundhiships.
“Beautifulscar.”Shesmiled,lookingathischest.“Whatwasit?Didyou
fallunderthebladeinasawmill?”
Hedidn’tanswer.Thesorceresscontinuedtoobservehim,tiltingherhead
coquettishly.
“Thefirst witcher I can look at from close up,and completely naked at
that.Aha!”She leanedover,listening.“Ican hearyourheartbeat. It’svery
slow.Canyoucontrolhowmuchadrenalinyousecrete?Oh,forgivememy
professionalcuriosity. Apparently, you’re touchy about the qualitiesofyour
ownbody.You’rewonttodescribethesequalitiesusingwordswhichIgreatly
dislike, lapsing into pompous sarcasm with it, something I dislike even
more.”
Hedidn’tanswer.
“Well,enoughofthat.Mybathisgettingcold.”Yennefermovedasifshe
wantedtodiscardhercoat,thenhesitated.“I’lltakemybathwhileyoutalk,to
savetime.ButIdon’twanttoembarrassyouand,besides,wehardly know
eachother.Sothen,takingdecencyintoaccount—”
“I’llturnaround,”heproposedhesitantly.
“No.IhavetoseetheeyesofthepersonI’mtalkingto.I’vegotabetter
idea.”
Heheardanincantationbeingrecited,felthismedallionquiverandsaw
theblackcoatsoftlysliptothefloor.Thenheheardthewatersplashing.
“NowIcan’tseeyoureyes,Yennefer,”hesaid.“Andthat’sapity.”
Theinvisiblesorceresssnortedandsplashedinthetub.“Goon.”
Geralt finished struggling with his trousers, pulling them on under his
towel,andsatonthebench.Bucklinguphisboots,herelatedtheadventure
bytheriver,cuttingoutmostoftheskirmishwiththecatfish.Yenneferdidn’t
seemthetypetobeinterestedinfishing.
Whenhegottothepartwherethecloud-creatureescapedfromthejar,the
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hugesoapyspongefroze.
“Well,well,”heheard,“that’sinteresting.Adjinninabottle.”
“Nodjinn,”hecontested.“Itwassomevariantofscarletmist.Somenew,
unknowntype—”
“The new and unknown typedeservesto be called something,” said the
invisible Yennefer. “The name djinn is no worse than any other. Continue,
please.”
He obeyed. The soapin the tub foamedrelentlessly as he continuedhis
tale, and the water overflowed. Something caught his eye. Looking more
carefullyhediscernedoutlinesandshapesrevealedbythesoapcoveringthe
invisibleYennefer.Theyfascinatedhimtotheextentthathewasstruckdumb.
“Go on!” a voice coming from nothingness, from above the outlines
whichsoabsorbedhim,urged.“Whathappenednext?”
“That’sall,”hesaid.“Ichasedhimaway,thatdjinn,asyoucallhim—”
“How?”The ladleroseand pouredwater.Thesoap vanished,asdid the
shapes.
Geraltsighed.“Withanincantation,”hesaid.“Anexorcism.”
“Whichone?”Theladlepouredwateroncemore.Thewitcherstartedto
observe the ladle’s action more diligently because the water, albeit briefly,
alsorevealedthisandthat.Herepeatedtheincantation,substitutingthevowel
“e” with an intake of breath, according to the safety rule. He thought he’d
impressthesorceressbyknowingtherulesohewassurprisedwhenheheard
laughtercomingfromthetub.
“What’ssofunny?”
“That exorcism of yours…” The towel flew off its peg and suddenly
begantowipetherestoftheoutlines.“Trissisgoingtokillherselflaughing
whenItellher.Whotaughtyouthat,witcher?Thatincantation?”
“ApriestessfromHuldra’ssanctuary.It’sasecretlanguageofthetemple
—”
“Secret to some.” The towel slapped against the brim of the tub, water
sprayedontothefloorandwetfootprintsmarkedthesorceress’ssteps.“That
wasn’tanincantation,Geralt.NorwouldIadviseyoutorepeatthosewordsin
othertemples.”
“What was it, if not an incantation?” he asked, watching two black
stockingsoutlineshapelylegs,oneaftertheother.
“A witty saying.” Frilly knickers clung to nothing in an unusually
interestingmanner.“Ifratherindecent.”
Awhiteshirtwithanenormousflower-shapedruffleflutteredupwardand
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outlined Yennefer’s body. She didn’t, the witcher noticed, bother with the
whalebonenonsenseusuallywornbywomen.Shedidn’thaveto.
“Whatsaying?”heasked.
“Nevermind.”
The cork sprang from a rectangular crystal bottle standing on the stool.
Thebath-chamberstartedtosmelloflilacandgooseberries.Thecorktraced
severalcirclesandjumpedbackintoplace.Thesorceressfastenedthecuffsof
hershirt,pulledonadressandmaterialized.
“Fastenmeup.”Sheturnedherbacktohimwhilecombingherhairwitha
tortoiseshellcomb.Henoticedthatthecombhadalong,sharpprongwhich
could,ifneedbe,easilytaketheplaceofadagger.
Hetookadeliberatelylongtimefasteningherdress,onehookatatime,
enjoyingthescentofherhair,whichfellhalfwaydownherbackinablack
cascade.
“Going back to the bottle creature,” said Yennefer, putting diamond
earrings in her ears, “it’s obvious that it wasn’t your funny incantation that
drove him away. The hypothesis that he discharged his fury on your friend
andleftseemsclosertothetruth.”
“Probably,”Geraltagreed,gloomily.“Idon’tthinkheflewofftoCidaris
todoawaywithValdoMarx.”
“Who’sValdoMarx?”
“Atroubadourwhoconsidersmycompanion,alsoapoetandmusician,a
talentlesswastrelwhopanderstothetasteofthemasses.”
Thesorceressturnedroundwithastrangeglimmerinhereyes.“Couldit
bethatyourfriendmanagedtoexpressawish?”
“Two.Bothstupid.Whydoyouask?Thisfulfillingofwishesbygeniesis
nonsense,afterall,djinns,spiritsofthelamp—”
“Clearly nonsense,” repeated Yennefer with a smile. “Of course. It’s an
invention,afairytaledevoidofanysense,likeallthelegendsinwhichgood
spiritsandfortunetellersfulfillwishes.Storieslikethataremadeupbypoor
simpletons, who can’t even dream of fulfilling their wishes and desires
themselves.I’mpleasedyou’renotoneofthem,GeraltofRivia.Itmakesyou
closerinspirittome.IfIwantsomething,Idon’tdreamofit—Iact.AndI
alwaysgetwhatIwant.”
“Idon’tdoubtit.Areyouready?”
“I am.” The sorceress finished fastening the straps of her slippers and
stoodup.Eveninhighheels,shewasn’timpressivelytall.Sheshookherhair
which,hefound,hadretaineditspicturesque,disheveledandcurlingdisarray
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despitethefuriouscombing.
“I’vegotaquestion,Geralt.Thesealwhichclosedthebottle…Hasyour
friendstillgotit?”
Thewitcherreflected.Hehadtheseal,notDandilion.Butexperiencehad
taughthimthatsorcerersshouldn’tbetoldtoomuch.
“Hmm… I think so.” He deceived her as to the reason for his delay in
replying.“Yes,heprobablydoes.Why?Isthesealimportant?”
“That’s a strange question,” she said sharply, “for a witcher and a
specialist in supernatural monstrosities. Someone who ought to know that
such a seal is important enough not to touch. And not to let their friend
touch.”
Heclenchedhisjaw.Theblowwaswellaimed.
“Oh,well.”Yenneferchangedhertonetoamuchgentlerone.“Noone’s
infallibleandnowitcher’sinfallible,aswesee.Everyonecanmakeamistake.
Well,wecangetitonourway.Where’syourcomrade?”
“Here,inRinde.AtErrdil’s.Theelf’s.”
Shelookedathimcarefully.
“AtErrdil’s?”sherepeated,contortingherlipsinasmile.“Iknowwhere
thatis.AndIgatherhiscousinChireadanistheretoo?”
“That’sright.Butwhat—?”
“Nothing,”sheinterrupted,raisedherarmsandclosedhereyes.
Themedallionaroundthewitcher’sneckpulsed,tuggedatthechain.
On the damp bath-chamber wall shone the luminous outline of a door
which framed a swirling phosphorescent milky nothingness. The witcher
cursed.Hedidn’tlikemagicalportals,ortravelingbythem.
“Dowehaveto…”Heclearedhisthroat.“It’snotfar—”
“Ican’twalkthestreetsofthistown,”shecuthimshort.“They’renottoo
crazy about me here. They might insult me and throw stones—or do
somethingworse. Severalpeopleare effectivelyruiningmyreputation here,
thinkingtheycangetawaywithit.Don’tworry,myportalsaresafe.”
Geralthadoncewatchedasonly half a traveler using a safe portal flew
through. The other half was never found. He knew of several cases where
peoplehadenteredaportalandneverbeenseenagain.
Thesorceressadjustedherhairagainandpinnedapearl-embossedpurse
toherbelt.Thepurselookedtoosmalltoholdanythingotherthanahandful
ofcoppersandalipstick,butGeraltknewitwasnoordinarypurse.
“Holdme.Tighter.I’mnotmadeofchina.Onourway!”
The medallion vibrated, something flashed and Geralt suddenly found
227
himselfinblacknothingness,inpenetratingcold.Hecouldn’tsee,hearorfeel
anything.Coldwasallthathissensescouldregister.
Hewantedtocurse,butdidn’thavetime.
228
V
“It’sanhoursinceshewentin.”Chireadanturnedoverthehourglassstanding
on the table. “I’m starting to get worried. Was Dandilion’s throat really so
bad?Don’tyouthinkweoughttogoandhavealook?”
“She made itquite clear that shedidn’twant us to.” Geraltfinished his
mugofherbtea,grimacingdreadfully.Hevaluedandlikedthesettledelves
for their intelligence, calm reserve and sense of humor, but he couldn’t
understandorsharetheirtasteinfoodordrink.“Idon’tintendtodisturbher,
Chireadan. Magic requires time. It can take all day and night, as long as
Dandiliongetsbetter.”
“Ohwell,you’reright.”
Asoundofhammeringcamefromtheroomnextdoor.Errdil,asitturned
out, lived in a deserted inn whichhe had bought intending to renovate and
thenopenwithhiswife,aquiet,taciturnelf.Vratimir,whohadtakentotheir
companyafteranightspentwiththeelvesintheguardroom,volunteeredto
helpwiththerepairs.Hegotdowntorenovatingthewoodpaneling,working
alongsidethemarriedcouple,assoonastheconfusioncreatedbythewitcher
andYenneferleapingthroughthewallintheflashofaportalhadsubsided.
“Ididn’tthinkyou’dfinditsoeasy,ifI’mtobehonest,”Chireadanwent
on. “Yennefer isn’t the most spontaneous of people when it comes to help.
Others’troublesdon’tparticularlybotherher,anddon’tdisturbhersleep.Ina
word,I’veneverheardofherhelpinganyoneiftherewasn’tsomethinginit
forher.Iwonderwhat’sinitforhertohelpyouandDandilion.”
“Aren’tyouexaggerating?”Thewitchersmiled.“Ididn’thavesuchabad
impression of her. She likes to demonstrate her superiority, it’s true, but
comparedwithotherwizards,withthatwholearrogantbunch,she’swalking
charmandkindlinesspersonified.”
Chireadanalsosmiled.“It’salmostasthoughyouthoughtascorpionwere
prettierthanaspider,”hesaid,“becauseit’sgotsuchalovelytail.Becareful,
Geralt.You’renotthefirsttohavejudgedherlikethatwithoutknowingshe’s
turned her charmand beauty into weapons.Weapons she uses skilfully and
without scruple. Which, of course, doesn’t change the fact that she’s a
fascinatingandgood-lookingwoman.Youwouldn’tdisagree,wouldyou?”
Geralt glanced keenly at the elf. For a second time, he thought he saw
tracesofablushonhisface.ItsurprisedhimnolessthanChireadan’swords.
Pure-blooded elves were not wont to admire human women, even the very
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beautiful ones, and Yennefer, although attractive in her own way, couldn’t
passasagreatbeauty.
Each to their own taste but, in actual fact, not many would describe
sorceresses as good-looking. Indeed, all of them came from social circles
where the only fate for daughters would be marriage. Who would have
thought of condemning their daughter to years of tedious studies and the
tortures of somatic mutations if she could be given away in marriage and
advantageously allied? Who wished to have a sorceress in their family?
Despitetherespectenjoyedbymagicians,asorceress’sfamilydidnotbenefit
fromherintheleastbecausebythetimethegirlhadcompletedhereducation,
nothing tied her to her family anymore—only brotherhood counted, to the
exclusionofallelse.Soonlydaughterswithnochanceoffindingahusband
becomesorceresses.
Unlike priestesses and druidesses, who only unwillingly took ugly or
crippled girls, sorcerers took anyone who showed evidence of a
predisposition. If the child passed the first years of training, magic entered
intotheequation—straighteningandeveningoutlegs,repairingboneswhich
had badly knitted, patching harelips, removing scars, birthmarks and pox
scars.The young sorceress would become attractive because the prestige of
her profession demanded it. The result was pseudo-pretty women with the
angryandcoldeyesofuglygirls.Girlswhocouldn’tforgettheiruglinesshad
beencoveredbythemaskofmagiconlyfortheprestigeoftheirprofession.
No,Geraltcouldn’tunderstandChireadan.Hiseyes,theeyesofawitcher,
registeredtoomanydetails.
“No, Chireadan,” he answered. “I wouldn’t disagree. Thank you for the
warning. But this only concerns Dandilion. He suffered at my side, in my
presence. I didn’tmanage tosave himand Icouldn’thelp him. I’d sit on a
scorpionwithmybarebacksideifIknewitwouldhelphim.”
“That’s precisely what you’ve got to beware of most.” The elf smiled
enigmatically.“BecauseYenneferknowsitandshelikestomakethemostof
suchknowledge.Don’ttrusther,Geralt.She’sdangerous.”
Hedidn’tanswer.
Upstairs,thedoor squeaked. Yennefer stood atthestairs,leaning on the
gallerybalustrade.
“Witcher,couldyoucomehere?”
“Ofcourse.”
Thesorceress leanedherbackagainstthedoorofone ofthefew rooms
withfurniture,wheretheyhadputthesufferingtroubadour.
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The witcher approached, watchful and silent. He saw her left shoulder,
slightlyhigherthanherright.Hernose,slightlytoolong.Herlips,atouchtoo
narrow.Herchin,recedingalittletoomuch.Herbrowsalittletooirregular.
Hereyes…
Hesawtoomanydetails.Quiteunnecessarily.
“How’sDandilion?”
“Doyoudoubtmycapabilities?”
Hecontinuedwatching.Shehadthefigureofatwenty-year-old,although
hepreferrednottoguessatherrealage.Shemovedwithnatural,unaffected
grace.No,therewasnowayofguessingwhatshehadbeenlikebefore,what
hadbeenimproved.Hestoppedthinkingaboutit;therewasn’tanysense.
“Your talented friend will be well,” she said. “He’ll recover his vocal
talents.”
“Youhavemygratitude,Yennefer.”
Shesmiled.“You’llhaveanopportunitytoproveit.”
“CanIlookinonhim?”
Sheremainedsilentforamoment,watchinghimwithastrangesmileand
drummingherfingersonthedoorframe.“Ofcourse.Goin.”
The medallion on the witcher’s neck started to quiver, sharply and
rhythmically.
Aglassspherethesizeofasmallwatermelon,aflamewithamilkylight,
layinthecenterofthefloor.Thespheremarkedtheheartofapreciselytraced
nine-pointed star whose arms reached the corners and walls of the small
chamber. A red pentagram was inscribed within the star. The tips of the
pentagramweremarkedbyblackcandlesstandinginweirdlyshapedholders.
Black candles had also been lit at the head of the bed where Dandilion,
coveredwithsheepskins,rested.Thepoetwasbreathingpeacefully;hedidn’t
wheezeorraspanymoreandtherictusofpainhaddisappearedfromhisface,
tobereplacedbyanidioticsmileofhappiness.
“He’sasleep,”saidYennefer.“Anddreaming.”
Geraltexaminedthepatternstracedonthefloor.Themagichiddenwithin
themwaspalpable,butheknewitwasadormantmagic.Itbroughttomind
thepurrofasleepinglion,withoutsuggestinghowtheroarmightsound.
“Whatisthis,Yennefer?”
“Atrap.”
“Forwhat?”
“Foryou, for the time being.” The sorceress turned thekey in thelock,
thenturneditoverinherhand.Thekeydisappeared.
231
“And thus I’m trapped,” he said coldly. “What now? Are you going to
assaultmyvirtue?”
“Don’tflatter yourself.”Yennefersat ontheedge ofthebed. Dandilion,
stillsmilinglikeamoron,groanedquietly.Itwas,withoutadoubt,agroanof
bliss.
“What’sthisallabout,Yennefer?Ifit’sagame,Idon’tknowtherules.”
“Itoldyou,”shebegan,“thatIalwaysgetwhatIwant.Asithappens,I
desire something that Dandilion has. I’ll get it from him and we can part
ways.Don’tworry,hewon’tcometoanyharm—”
“Thethingsyou’vesetonthefloor,”heinterrupted,“areusedtosummon
demons. Someone always comes to harm where demons are summoned. I
won’tallowit.”
“—not a hair of his head will be harmed,” continued the sorceress,
without paying any attention to his words. “His voice will be even more
beautifulandhe’llbeverypleased,evenhappy.We’llallbehappy.Andwe’ll
partwithnoillfeelingsorresentment.”
“Oh, Virginia,” moaned Dandilion without opening his eyes. “Your
breastsaresobeautiful,moredelicatethanaswan’sdown…Virginia…”
“Hashelosthismind?Isheraving?”
“He’sdreaming.”Yennefersmiled.“Hisdreamwishisbeingsatisfiedin
hissleep.Iprobedhismindtotheverydepths.Therewasn’tmuchthere.A
fewobscenities,severaldreamsandmassesofpoetry.Butbethatasitmay.
Theseal whichpluggedthebottlewith thedjinn,Geralt,Iknowhedoesn’t
haveit.Youdo.Pleasegiveittome.”
“Whatdoyouneedthesealfor?”
“HowshouldIansweryourquestion?”Thesorceresssmiledcoquettishly.
“Let’strythis:it’snoneofyourdamnedbusiness,witcher.Doesthatsatisfy
you?”
“No.” His smile was equally nasty. “It doesn’t. But don’t reproach
yourselfforit,Yennefer.I’mnoteasilysatisfied.Onlythosewhoareabove
averagehavemanagedsofar.”
“Pity.Soyou’llremainunsatisfied.It’syourloss.Theseal,please.Don’t
pullthatface; itdoesn’tsuiteither yourgoodlooksor your complexion.In
caseyouhadn’tnoticed,letmetellyouthatyouarenowbeginningtorepay
thegratitudeyouoweme.Thesealisthefirstinstallmentforthepricetobe
paidforthesinger’svoice.”
“Iseeyou’vedividedthepriceintoseveralinstallments,”hesaidcoldly.
“Fine.Imighthaveexpectedthat.Butletitbeafairtrade,Yennefer.Ibought
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yourhelp.AndI’llpay.”
Shecontortedherlipsinasmile,buthervioleteyesremainedwideopen
andcold.
“Youshouldn’thaveanydoubtsastothat,witcher.”
“Me,”herepeated.“NotDandilion.I’mtakinghimtoasafeplace.When
I’ve done that, I’ll come back and pay your second installment, andall the
others.Becauseastothefirst…”
Hereachedinto asecretpocketof hisbeltandpulled outthebrassseal
withthesignofastarandbrokencross.
“Here,takeit.Notasaninstallment.Acceptitfromawitcherasproofof
his gratitude for having treated him more kindly, albeit in a calculated
manner, than the majority of your brethren would have done. Accept it as
evidenceof goodwill,whichought toconvinceyouthat,havingseentomy
friend’s safety, I’llreturnto repay you. Ididn’tsee the scorpion amidstthe
flowers,Yennefer.I’mpreparedtopayformyinattention.”
“A pretty speech.” The sorceress folded her arms. “Touching and
pompous.Pityit’sinvain.IneedDandilion,sohe’sstayinghere.”
“He’salreadybeenclosetothecreatureyouintendtodrawhere.”Geralt
indicated the patterns on the floor. “When you’ve finished your handiwork
andbroughtthedjinnhere,Dandilionismostcertainlygoingtosufferdespite
all your promises, maybe even more than before. Because it’s the creature
fromthebottlethatyouwant,isn’tit?Doyouintendtomasterit,forceitto
serve you? You don’t have to answer. I know it’s none of my damned
business. Do what you want, draw ten demons in if you like. But without
Dandilion. If you put him at risk, this will no longer be an honest trade,
Yennefer,andyoudon’thavetherighttodemandpaymentforthat.Iwon’t
allow—”Hebrokeoff.
“Iwonderedwhenyou’dfeelit,”giggledthesorceress.
Geralttensedhismusclesand,clenchinghisjawuntilithurt,strainedhis
entire will. It didn’t help.He was paralyzed,like astone statue, like apost
whichhadbeendugintotheground.Hecouldn’tevenwiggleatoe.
“Iknewyoucoulddeflectaspellthrownstraightatyou,”saidYennefer.
“Ialsoknewthatbeforeyoutriedanything,you’dtrytoimpressmewithyour
eloquence.You were talking whilethespellhanging over you wasworking
and slowly breaking you. Now you can only talk. But you don’t have to
impress me anymore. I know you’re eloquent. Any further efforts in that
directionwillonlyspoiltheeffect.”
“Chireadan—”hesaidwithaneffort,stillfightingthemagicalparalysis.
233
“Chireadanwillrealizethatyou’re upto something.He’llsoonworkitout,
suspect something any minutenow, becausehedoesn’ttrust you,Yennefer.
Hehasn’ttrustedyoufromthestart—”
Thesorceresssweptherhandinabroadgesture.Thewallsofthechamber
became blurred and tookon a uniform dullgray appearance and color. The
door disappeared, the windows disappeared, even the dusty curtains and
picturesonthewall,splatteredwithflies,vanished.
“WhatifChireadandoesfigureitout?”Shegrimacedmaliciously.“Ishe
goingtorunforhelp?Nobodywillgetthroughmybarrier.ButChireadan’s
notgoingtorunanywhere.Hewon’tdoanythingagainstme.Anything.He’s
undermyspell.No,it’snotaquestionofblacksorcery.Ididn’tdoanythingin
that way. It’s a simple question ofbody chemistry. He’s fallen inlove with
me,theblockhead.Didn’tyouknow?Canyouimagine,heevenintendedto
challengeBeautoaduel.Ajealouself.Thatrarelyhappens.Geralt,it’snot
fornothingthatIchosethishouse.”
“Beau Berrant, Chireadan, Errdil, Dandilion. You really are heading for
yourgoal asstraightasyoucan.Butme,Yennefer,you’re notgoingto use
me.”
“OhIam,Iam.”Thesorceressgotupfromthebedandapproachedhim,
carefullyavoidingthesignsandsymbolsmarkedoutonthefloor.“Afterall,I
didsaythatyouowemesomethingforcuringthepoet.It’samatterofatrifle,
asmallfavor.AfterwhatI’vedone,whatIintendtodohereinamoment,I’m
leavingRindeandI’vestillgotunpaidaccountsinthistown.I’vepromised
severalpeopleheresomething,andIalwayskeepmypromises.SinceIwon’t
havetimetodosomyself,you’llkeepthosepromisesforme.”
Hewrestledwithallhismight.Invain.
“Don’tstruggle, mylittlewitcher.”Shesmiledspitefully.“It’spointless.
You’vegotastrongwillandquiteabitofresistancetomagicbutyoucan’t
contendwithmeandmyspell.Anddon’tactoutafarceforme;don’ttryto
charmmewithyourhardand insolent masculinity. You are the only one to
think you’re insolent and hard. You’d do anything for me in order to save
yourfriend,evenwithoutspellsatthat.You’dpayanyprice.You’dlickmy
boots. And maybe something else, too, if I unexpectedly wished to amuse
myself.”
He remained silent. Yennefer was standing in front ofhim, smiling and
fiddlingwiththeobsidianstarsparklingwithdiamondspinnedtohervelvet
ribbon.
“Ialreadyknewwhatyouwerelike,”shecontinued,“afterexchanginga
234
fewwordswithyouinBeau’sbedroom.AndIknewwhatformofpayment
I’d demand from you. My accounts in Rinde could be settled by anyone,
including Chireadan. But you’re the one who’s going to do it because you
havetopayme.Foryourinsolence,forthecoldwayyoulookatme,forthe
eyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone of
voice. For thinking that you could stand face-to-face with Yennefer of
Vergerberg and believe her to be full of self-admiration and arrogance, a
calculatingwitch,whilestaringathersoapytits.Payup,GeraltofRivia!”
Shegrabbedhishairwithbothhandsandkissedhimviolentlyonthelips,
sinking her teeth into them like a vampire. The medallion on his neck
quiveredanditfelttoGeraltasifthechainwasshrinkingandstranglinghim.
Something blazed in his head while a terrible humming filled his ears. He
stoppedseeingthesorceress’svioleteyesandfellintodarkness.
Hewaskneeling.Yenneferwastalkingtohiminagentle,softvoice.
“Youremember?”
“Yes,mylady.”Itwashisownvoice.
“Sogoandcarryoutmyinstructions.”
“Atyourcommand,mylady.”
“Youmaykissmyhand.”
“Thankyou,mylady.”
Hefelthimselfapproachheronhisknees.Tenthousandbeesbuzzedin
hishead.Herhandsmeltoflilacandgooseberries.Lilacandgooseberries…
Lilacandgooseberries…Aflash.Darkness.
Abalustrade,stairs.Chireadan’sface.
“Geralt!What’sthematterwithyou?Geralt,whereareyougoing?”
“Ihaveto…”Hisownvoice.“Ihavetogo—”
“Oh,gods!Lookathiseyes!”
Vratimir’s face, contorted with horror. Errdil’s face. And Chireadan’s
voice.
“No!Errdil!Don’ttouchhim!Don’ttrytostophim!Outofhisway—get
outofhisway!”
Thescentoflilacandgooseberries.Lilacandgooseberries…
Adoor.Theexplosionofsunlight.It’shot.Humid.Thescentoflilacand
gooseberries.There’sgoingtobeastorm,hethought.
Andthatwashislastthought.
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236
VI
Darkness.Thescent…
Scent?No,smell.Stenchofurine,rottenstrawandwetrags.Thestinkof
asmolderingtorchstuckintoanirongripsetinawallofunevenstoneblocks.
A shadow thrown by thelight of the torch, a shadow onthe dirt floor—the
shadowofagrille.
Thewitchercursed.
“Atlast.”Hefeltsomeonelifthimup,resthisbackagainstthedampwall.
“Iwasbeginningtoworry,youdidn’tregainconsciousnessforsolong.”
“Chireadan?Where—dammit,myhead’ssplitting—wherearewe?”
“Wheredoyouthink?”
Geraltwipedhisfaceandlookedaround.Threeroguesweresittingbythe
oppositewall.Hecouldn’tseethemclearly;theyweresittingasfarfromthe
torch light as possible,innear complete darkness. Somethingwhichlooked
likeaheapofragscrouchedunderthegrillewhichseparatedthemfromthelit
corridor.Itwas,infact,athinoldmanwith anose likeastork’sbeak.The
lengthof hismattedstringyhairand thestateofhisclothesshowedthathe
hadn’tarrivedyesterday.
“They’vethrownusinthedungeon,”hesaidgloomily.
“I’mgladyou’veregainedyourabilitytodrawlogicalconclusions,”said
theelf.
“Bloodyhell…AndDandilion?Howlonghavewebeenhere?Howmuch
timehasgonebysince—?”
“I don’t know. I was unconscious, just like you, when I was thrown in
here.” Chireadan raked up the straw to sit more comfortably. “Is it
important?”
“And how, dammit! Yennefer—And Dandilion—Dandilion’s there, with
her,andshe’splanning—Hey,you!Howlonghavewebeeninhere?”
Theotherprisonerswhisperedamongthemselves.Nonereplied.
“Haveyougonedeaf?”Geraltspat,stillunabletogetridofthemetallic
tasteinhismouth.“I’maskingyou,whattimeofdayisit?Ornight?Surely
youknowwhattimetheyfeedyou?”
Theymutteredagain,clearedtheirthroats.“Sirs,”saidoneofthematlast.
“Leave us in peace and don’t talk to us. We be decent thieves, not some
politicals.Wedidn’ttrytoattacktheauthorities.Wewasonlystealing.”
“Thatbeit,”saidanother.“You’veyourcorner,we’veours.Andleteach
237
lookafterhisown.”
Chireadansnorted.Thewitcherspat.
“That’s the wayitgoes,” mumbled the hairyold manwitha long nose.
“Everyoneintheclinkguardshisowncornerandholdswithhisown.”
“Andyou,oldman,”askedtheelfsneeringly,“areyouwiththemorwith
us?Whichcampdoyoucountyourselfin?”
“None,”heansweredproudly,“becauseI’minnocent.”
Geralt spat again. “Chireadan?” he asked, rubbing his temple. “This
attemptontheauthorities…Isittrue?”
“Absolutely.Youdon’tremember?”
“Iwalkedoutintothestreet…Peoplewerelookingatme…Then…Then
therewasashop—”
“A pawnbroker’s.” The elf lowered his voice. “You went into the
pawnbroker’s.Assoonasyouwalkedin,youpunchedtheownerintheteeth.
Hard.Veryhard.”
Thewitchergroundhisteethandcursed.
“The pawnbroker fell,” Chireadan continued quietly. “And you kicked
himseveraltimesindelicateplaces.Theassistantrantohelphismasterand
youthrewhimoutofthewindow,intothestreet.”
“Ifear,”mutteredGeralt,“thatwasn’ttheendofit.”
“Your fears are well founded. You left the pawnbroker’s and marched
downthecenterofthestreet,jostlingpassersbyandshoutingsomenonsense
aboutalady’shonor.Therewasquiteacrowdfollowingyou,Errdil,Vratimir
andIamongthem.ThenyoustoppedinfrontofLaurelnosetheapothecary’s
house, went in, and were back in the street a moment later, dragging
Laurelnosebytheleg.Andyoumadesomethingofaspeechtothecrowd.”
“Whatsortofaspeech?”
“Toputitsimply,youstatedthataself-respectingmanshouldn’tevercall
aprofessionalharlotawhorebecauseit’sbaseandrepugnant,whileusingthe
word whore to describe a woman one has never knocked off or paid any
money for doing so, is childish and punishable. The punishment, you
announced,wouldbedealtthereandthen,anditwouldbefittingforaspoilt
child. You thrustthe apothecary’s head between hisknees, pulled downhis
pantsandthrashedhisarsewithabelt.”
“Goon,Chireadan.Goon.Don’tspareme.”
“You beat Laurelnose on the backside and the apothecary howled and
sobbed, called to gods and men alike for help, begged for mercy—he even
promisedtobebetterinthefuture,butyouclearlydidn’tbelievehim.Then
238
severalarmedbandits,whoinRindegobythenameofguards,camerunning
up.”
“And”—Geraltnodded—“that’swhenImadeahitattheauthorities?”
“Notatall.Youmadeahitatthemmuchearlier.Boththepawnbrokerand
Laurelnose are on the town council. Both had called for Yennefer to be
thrownoutoftown.Notonlydidtheyvoteforitatthecouncilbuttheybad-
mouthedherintavernsandspreadvulgargossip.”
“Iguessed that.Carryon. You stoppedwhenthe guardsappeared.They
threwmeinhere?”
“Theywantedto.Oh,Geralt,whatasightitwas.Whatyoudidtothem,
it’shardtodescribe.Theyhadswords,whips,clubs,hatchets,andyouonly
hadanashcanewithapommel,whichyou’dsnatchedfromsomedandy.And
when they were all lying on the ground, you walked on. Most of us knew
whereyouweregoing.”
“I’dbehappytoknowtoo.”
“You were going to the temple. Because the priest Krepp, who’s also a
member of the council, dedicated a lot of time to Yennefer in his sermons.
You promised him a lesson in respect for the fair sex. When you spoke of
him,youomittedhistitleandthrewinotherdescriptions,tothedelightofthe
childrentrailingafteryou.”
“Aha,” muttered Geralt. “So blasphemy came into it, too. What else?
Desecrationofthetemple?”
“No. You didn’t manage to get in there. An entire unit of municipal
guards,armed—itseemedtome—withabsolutelyeverythingtheycouldlay
theirhandsoninthearmoryapartfromacatapult,waswaitinginfrontofthe
temple.Itlookedasiftheyweregoingtoslaughteryou,butyoudidn’treach
them.Yousuddenlygraspedyourheadwithbothhandsandfainted.”
“Youdon’thavetofinish.So,Chireadan,howwereyouimprisoned?”
“Severalguardsrantoattackyouwhenyoufell.Igotintoadisputewith
them.Igotablowovertheheadwithamaceandcametohere,inthishole.
Nodoubtthey’llaccusemeoftakingpartinananti-humanconspiracy.”
“Since we’re talking about accusations”—the witcher ground his teeth
again—“what’sinstoreforus,doyouthink?”
“If Neville, the mayor, gets back from the capital on time,” muttered
Chireadan,“whoknows…he’safriend.Butifhedoesn’t,thensentencewill
be passed by the councilors, including Laurelnose and the pawnbroker, of
course.Andthatmeans—”
The elf made a brief gesture across his neck. Despite the darkness, the
239
gestureleftlittledoubtastoChireadan’smeaning.Thewitcherdidn’treply.
Thethievesmumbledto each other and the tinyoldman,lockedupfor his
innocence,seemedtobeasleep.
“Great,”saidGeraltfinally,andcursedvilely.“NotonlywillIhang,but
I’ll do so with the knowledge that I’m the cause of your death, Chireadan.
And Dandilion’s, too, no doubt. No, don’t interrupt. I know it’s Yennefer’s
prank,butI’mtheguiltyone.It’smyfoolishness.Shedeceivedme,tookthe
pissoutofme,asthedwarvessay.”
“Hmm…” muttered the elf. “Nothing to add, nothing to take away. I
warnedyouagainsther.Dammit,Iwarnedyou,andIturnedouttobejustas
big an—pardon the word—idiot. You’re worried that I’m here because of
you,butit’squitetheopposite.You’relockedupbecauseofme.Icouldhave
stopped you in the street, overpowered you, not allowed—But I didn’t.
Because I was afraid that when the spell she’d cast on you had dispelled,
you’dgobackand…harmher.Forgiveme.”
“Iforgiveyou,becauseyou’venoideahowstrongthatspellwas.Mydear
elf,IcanbreakanordinaryspellwithinafewminutesandIdon’tfaintwhile
doing it. You wouldn’t have managed to break Yennefer’s spell and you
wouldhavehaddifficultyoverpoweringme.Remembertheguards.”
“Iwasn’tthinkingaboutyou.Irepeat:Iwasthinkingabouther.”
“Chireadan?”
“Yes?”
“Doyou…Doyou—”
“Idon’tlikegrandwords,”interruptedtheelf,smilingsadly.“I’mgreatly,
shallwesay,fascinatedbyher.Nodoubtyou’resurprisedthatanyonecould
befascinatedbyher?”
Geralt closed his eyes to recall an image which, without using grand
words,fascinatedhiminexplicably.
“No,Chireadan,”hesaid.“I’mnotsurprised.”
Heavystepssoundedinthecorridor,andaclangofmetal.Thedungeon
wasfilledwiththeshadows of four guards. Akeygrated.Theinnocentold
manleaptawayfromthebarslikealynxandhidamongthecriminals.
“So soon?” the elf, surprised, half-whispered. “I thought it would take
longertobuildthescaffold…”
Oneoftheguards,atall,strappingfellow,baldasaknee,hismugcovered
withbristleslikeaboar,pointedatthewitcher.
“Thatone,”hesaidbriefly.
Two others grabbed Geralt, hauled him up and pressed him against the
240
wall.Thethievessqueezedintotheircorner;thelong-nosedgranddadburied
himselfinthestraw.Chireadanwantedtojumpup,buthefelltothedirtfloor,
retreatingfromtheshortswordpointedathischest.
The bald guard stood in front of the witcher, pulled his sleeves up and
rubbedhisfist.
“Councilor Laurelnose,” he said, “toldme toask ifyou’reenjoying our
little dungeon. Perhaps there’s something you need? Perhaps the chill is
gettingtoyou?Eh?”
Geraltdidnotanswer.Norcouldhekickthebaldman,astheguardswho
restrainedhimwerestandingonhisfeetintheirheavyboots.
Thebaldmantookashortswingandpunchedthewitcherinthestomach.
Itdidn’thelptotensehismusclesindefense.Geralt,catchinghisbreathwith
an effort, looked at the buckle of his own belt fora while; then the guards
“hauledhimupagain.
“Istherenothingyouneed?”theguardcontinued,stinkingofonionsand
rottingteeth.“Thecouncilorwillbepleasedthatyouhavenocomplaints.”
Another blow, in the same place. The witcher choked and would have
puked,buthehadnothingtothrowup.
Thebaldguardturnedsideways.Hewaschanginghands.
Wham!Geraltlookedatthebuckleofhisbeltagain.Althoughitseemed
strange,therewasnoholeaboveitthroughwhichthewallcouldbeseen.
“Well?”Theguardbackedawayalittle,nodoubtplanningtotakeawider
swing.“Don’tyouhaveanywishes?Mr.Laurelnoseaskedwhetheryouhave
any.Butwhyaren’tyousayinganything?Tongue-tied?I’llgetitstraightfor
you!”
Wham!
Geraltdidn’tfaintthistimeeither.Andhehadtofaintbecausehecared
forhisinternalorgans.Inordertofaint,hehadtoforcetheguardto—
Theguardspat,baredhisteethandrubbedhisfistagain.
“Well?Nowishesatall?”
“Justone…” moaned the witcher, raising his head with difficulty. “That
youburst,youson-of-a-whore.”
The bald guard ground his teeth, stepped back and took a swing—this
time, according to Geralt’s plan, aiming for his head. But the blow never
came. The guard suddenly gobbled like a turkey, grew red, grabbed his
stomachwithbothhands,howled,roaredwithpain…
Andburst.
241
242
VII
AndwhatamItodowithyou?”
A blindingly bright ribbon of lightning cut the darkened sky outside the
window,followedbyasharp,drawn-outcrashofthunder.Thedownpourwas
gettingharderasthestormcloudpassedoverRinde.
GeraltandChireadan,seatedonabenchunderahugetapestrydepicting
theProphetLebioduspasturinghissheep,remainedsilent,modestlyhanging
theirheads.MayorNevillewaspacingthechamber,snortingandpantingwith
anger.
“You bloody, shitty sorcerers!” he yelled suddenly, standing still. “Are
you persecuting my town, or what? Aren’t there any other towns in the
world?”
Theelfandwitcherremainedsilent.
“Todosomethinglike—”themayorchoked.“Toturnthewarder…Like
atomato!Topulp!Toredpulp!It’sinhuman!”
“Inhuman and godless,” repeated the priest, also present. “So inhuman
that even a fool could guess who’s behind it. Yes, mayor. We both know
Chireadan and the man here, who calls himself a witcher, wouldn’t have
enoughForcetodothis.ItisalltheworkofYennefer,thatwitchcursedby
thegods!”Therewasaclapofthunderoutside,asifconfirmingthepriest’s
words. “It’s her and no one else,” continued Krepp. “There’s no question
aboutit.Who,ifnotYennefer,wouldwantrevengeuponLaurelnose?”
“Hehehe,”chuckledthemayorsuddenly.“That’sthethingI’mleastangry
about.Laurelnosehasbeenschemingagainstme;he’s beenaftermyoffice.
Andnowthepeoplearen’tgoingtorespecthim.Whentheyrememberhow
hegotitinthearse—”
“That’s all it needs, Mr. Neville, you to applaud the crime.” Krepp
frowned. “Let me remind you that had I not thrown an exorcism at the
witcher,hewouldhaveraisedhishandtostrikemeandthetemple’smajesty
—”
“Andthat’sbecauseyouspokevilelyaboutherinyoursermons,Krepp.
EvenBerrantcomplainedaboutyou.Butwhat’strueistrue.Doyouhearthat,
youscoundrels?”ThemayorturnedtoGeraltandChireadanagain.“Nothing
justifieswhatyou’vedone!Idon’tintendtotoleratesuchthingshere!That’s
enough,nowgetonwithit,tellmeeverything,tellmewhatyouhaveforyour
defense,becauseifyoudon’t,IswearbyalltherelicsthatI’llleadyousucha
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danceasyouwon’tforgettoyourdyingday!Tellmeeverything,rightnow,
asyouwouldinaconfessional!”
Chireadan sighed deeply andlooked meaningfully andpleadingly at the
witcher.
Geraltalsosighed,thenclearedhisthroat.Andherecountedeverything.
Well,almosteverything.
“So that’s it,” said the priest after a moment’s silence.“A fine kettle of
fish.Ageniereleasedfromcaptivity.Andanenchantresswhohashersights
onthegenie.Notabadarrangement.Thiscouldendbadly,verybadly.”
“What’sagenie?”askedNeville.“AndwhatdoesthisYenneferwant?”
“Enchanters,” explained Krepp, “draw their power from the forces of
nature, or to put it more accurately, from the so-called Four Elements or
Principles, commonly called the natural forces. Air, Water, Fire and Earth.
EachoftheseelementshasitsownDimensionwhichiscalledaPlaneinthe
jargonusedbyenchanters.There’saWaterPlane,FirePlaneandsoon.These
Dimensions, which are beyond our reach, are inhabited by what are called
genies—”
“That’swhatthey’recalledinlegends,”interruptedthewitcher.“Because
asfarasIknow—”
“Don’t interrupt,” Krepp cut him short. “The fact that you don’t know
muchwasevidentinyourtale,witcher.Sobequietandlistentowhatthose
wiserthanyouhavetosay.Goingbacktothegenies,therearefoursorts,just
astherearefourPlanes.Djinnsareaircreatures;maridesareassociatedwith
theprincipleofwater;afreetareFiregeniesandd’ao,thegeniesofEarth—”
“You’verunawaywithyourself,Krepp,”Nevillebuttedin.“Thisisn’ta
temple school; don’t lecture us. Briefly, what does Yennefer want with this
genie?”
“A genie like this, mayor, is a living reservoir of magical energy. A
sorcererwhohasagenieattheirbeckandcallcandirectthatenergyinthe
formofspells.Theydon’thavetodrawtheForcefromNature;thegeniedoes
it for them. The power of such an enchanter is enormous, close to
omnipotence—”
“Somehow I’ve never heard of a wizard who can do everything,”
contradictedNeville.“Onthecontrary,thepowerofmostofthemisclearly
exaggerated.Theycan’tdothis,theycan’t—”
“TheenchanterStammelford,”interruptedthepriest,oncemoretakingon
thetoneandpoiseofanacademiclecturer,“oncemovedamountainbecause
it obstructed the view from his tower. Nobody has managed to do the like,
244
beforeorsince.BecauseStammelford,sotheysay,hadtheservicesofad’ao,
anEarthgenie.Therearerecordsofdeedsaccomplishedbyothermagicians
on a similarscale. Enormous waves andcatastrophic rains arecertainly the
workofmarides.Fierycolumns,firesandexplosionstheworkofafreets—”
“Whirlwinds, hurricanes, flights above the earth,” muttered Geralt,
“GeoffreyMonck.”
“Exactly. Iseeyou doknowsomething afterall.”Krepp glancedathim
morekindly.“Wordhas itoldMonckhadawayofforcingadjinntoserve
him.Therewererumorsthathehadmorethanone.Hewassaidtokeepthem
in bottles andmake use of them when need arose. Three wishes fromeach
genie,thenit’sfreeandescapesintoitsowndimension.”
“The one at the river didn’t fulfill anything,” said Geralt emphatically.
“HeimmediatelythrewhimselfatDandilion’sthroat.”
“Genies”—Kreppturneduphisnose—“arespitefulanddeceitfulbeings.
They don’t like being packed into bottles and ordered to move mountains.
Theydoeverythingtheypossiblycantomakeitimpossibleforyoutoexpress
yourwishesandthentheyfulfilltheminawaywhichishardtocontroland
foresee, sometimes literally, so you have to be careful what you say. To
subjugateagenie,youneedawillofiron,nervesofsteel,astrongForceand
considerableabilities.Fromwhatyousay,itlookslikeyourabilities,witcher,
weretoomodest.”
“Too modest to subjugate the cad,” agreed Geralt. “But I did chase him
away;heboltedsofasttheairhowled.Andthat’salsosomething.Yennefer,
it’strue,ridiculedmyexorcism—”
“Whatwastheexorcism?Repeatit.”
Geraltrepeatedit,wordforword.
“What?!”Thepriestfirstturnedpale,thenredandfinallyblue.“Howdare
you!Areyoumakingfunofme?”
“Forgive me,” stuttered Geralt. “To behonest, I don’t know… whatthe
wordsmean.”
“Sodon’trepeatwhatyoudon’tknow!I’venoideawhereyoucouldhave
heardsuchfilth!”
“Enough of that.” The mayor waved it all aside. “We’re wasting time.
Right. We now know what the sorceress wants thegenie for. But you said,
Krepp,thatit’sbad.What’sbad?Lethercatchhimandgotohell,whatdoI
care?Ithink—”
No one ever found out what Neville was thinking, even if it wasn’t a
boast. A luminous rectangle appeared on the wall next to the tapestry of
245
ProphetLebiodus,somethingflashedandDandilionlanded inthemiddleof
thetownhall.
“Innocent!”yelledthepoetinaclear,melodioustenor,sittingonthefloor
and looking around, his eyes vague. “Innocent! The witcher is innocent! I
wishyoutobelieveit!”
“Dandilion!”Geraltshouted,holdingKreppback,whowasclearlygetting
ready to perform an exorcism or a curse. “Where have you… here…
Dandilion!”
“Geralt!”Thebardjumpedup.
“Dandilion!”
“Who’sthis?”Nevillegrowled.“Dammit,ifyoudon’tputanendtoyour
spells,there’snoguaranteewhatI’lldo.I’vesaidthatspellsareforbiddenin
Rinde!Firstyouhavetoputinawrittenapplication,thenpayataxandstamp
duty…Eh?Isn’titthatsinger,thewitch’shostage?”
“Dandilion,”repeatedGeralt,holdingthepoetbytheshoulders.“Howdid
yougethere?”
“Idon’tknow,”admittedthebardwithafoolish,worriedexpression.“To
be honest, I’m rather unaware of what happened to me. I don’t remember
muchandmaytheplaguetakemeifIknowwhatofthatisrealandwhat’sa
nightmare.ButIdorememberquiteapretty,black-hairedfemalewithfiery
eyes—”
“What are you telling me about black-haired women for?” Neville
interruptedangrily.“Gettothepoint,squire,tothepoint.Youyelledthatthe
witcherisinnocent.HowamItounderstandthat?ThatLaurelnosethrashed
his own arse with his hands? Because if the witcher’s innocent, it couldn’t
havebeenotherwise.Unlessitwasamasshallucination.”
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutanyarsesorhallucinations,”saidDandilion
proudly. “Or anything about laurel noses: I repeat, that the last thing I
rememberwasanelegantwomandressedintastefullycoordinatedblackand
white.Shethrewmeintoashinyhole,amagicportalforsure.Butfirstshe
gavemeaclearandpreciseerrand.AssoonasI’darrived,Iwasimmediately
to say, Iquote: ‘My wish isfor you tobelieve the witcher isnot guilty for
whatoccurred.That,andnoother,ismywish.’Wordforword.Indeed,Itried
to ask what all this was, what it was all about, and why. The black-haired
woman didn’t let me get a word in edgeways. She scolded me most
inelegantly,graspedmebytheneckandthrewmeintotheportal.That’sall.
Andnow…”Dandilionpulled himself up, brushedhisdoublet,adjustedhis
collarandfancy—ifdirty—ruffles.“…perhaps,gentlemen,you’dliketotell
246
methenameofthebesttavernintownandwhereitcanbefound.”
“Therearenobadtavernsinmytown,”saidNevilleslowly.“Butbefore
youseethemforyourself,you’llinspectthebestdungeoninthistownvery
thoroughly.Youandyourcompanions.Letmeremindyouthatyou’restillnot
free, you scoundrels! Look at them! One tells incredible stories while the
otherleapsoutofthewallandshoutsaboutinnocence.Iwish,heyells,youto
believeme.Hehastheaudacitytowish—”
“My gods!” The priest suddenly grasped his bald crown. “Now I
understand!Thewish!Thelastwish!”
“What’shappenedtoyou,Krepp?”Themayorfrowned.“Areyouill?”
“Thelastwish!”repeatedthepriest.“Shemadethebardexpressthelast,
thethird wish.AndYennefer setamagicaltrapand,nodoubt,captured the
geniebeforehemanagedtoescapeintohisowndimension!Mr.Neville,we
must—”
Itthunderedoutside.Sostronglythatthewallsshook.
“Dammit,”mutteredthemayor,goinguptothewindow.“Thatwasclose.
As long as it doesn’t hit a house. All I need now is a fire—Oh gods! Just
look!Justlookatthis!Krepp!Whatisit?”
Allofthem,toaman,rushedtothewindow.
“Mother of mine!” yelled Dandilion, grabbing his throat. “It’s him! It’s
thatsonofabitchwhostrangledme!”
“Thedjinn!”shoutedKrepp.“TheAirgenie!”
“AboveErrdil’stavern!”shoutedChireadan,“abovehisroof!”
“She’scaughthim!”Thepriestleanedoutsofarhealmostfell.“Canyou
seethemagicallight?Thesorceresshascaughtthegenie!”
Geraltwatchedinsilence.
Once, years ago, when a little snot-faced brat following his studies in
KaerMorhen,theWitchers’Settlement,heandafriend,Eskel,hadcaptureda
hugeforestbumblebeeandtiedittoajugwithathread.Theywereinfitsof
laughterwatchingtheanticsofthetiedbumblebee,untilVesemir,theirtutor,
caughtthematitandtannedtheirhideswithaleatherstrap.
Thedjinn,circlingabovetheroofofErrdil’stavern,behavedexactlylike
that bumblebee. He flew up and fell, he sprang up and dived, he buzzed
furiously in a circle.Because the djinn, exactlylikethe bumblebee in Kaer
Morhen,wastieddown.Twistedthreadsofblindinglybrightlightofvarious
colorsweretightlywrappedaroundhimandendedattheroof.Butthedjinn
had more options than the bumblebee, which couldn’t knock down
surrounding roofs, rip thatches to shreds, destroy chimneys, and shatter
247
towersandgarrets.Thedjinncould.Anddid.
“It’sdestroyingthetown,”wailedNeville.“Thatmonster’sdestroyingmy
town!”
“Hehehe,” laughed the priest. “She’s found her match, it seems! It’s an
exceptionallystrongdjinn!Ireallydon’tknowwho’scaughtwhom,thewitch
him or hethe witch! Ha,it’ll end with the djinn grinding herto dust. Very
good!Justicewillbedone!”
“Ishit onjustice!”yelledthemayor,notcaringif therewereany voters
under the window. “Look what’s happening there, Krepp! Panic, ruin! You
didn’ttellmethat,youbaldidiot!Youplayedthewiseguy,gabbledon,but
not a word about what’s most important! Why didn’t you tell me that that
demon… Witcher! Do something! Do you hear, innocent sorcerer? Do
somethingaboutthatdemon!Iforgiveyouallyouroffences,but—”
“There’s nothing can be done here, Mr. Neville,” snorted Krepp. “You
didn’tlistentowhatIwassaying, that’s all.You neverlistentome.This, I
repeat, is an exceptionally strong djinn. If it wasn’t for that, the sorceress
wouldhaveholdofhimalready.Herspellissoongoingtoweaken,andthen
thedjinnisgoingtocrushherandescape.Andwe’llhavesomepeace.”
“Andinthemeantime,thetownwillgotoruins?”
“We’vegottowait,”repeatedthepriest,“butnotidly.Giveouttheorders,
mayor. Tell the people toevacuate the surrounding housesand get ready to
extinguishfires.What’shappeningtherenowisnothingcomparedtothehell
that’sgoingtobreakloosewhenthegeniehasfinishedwiththewitch.”
Geraltraisedhishead,caughtChireadan’seyeandlookedaway.
“Mr.Krepp,”hesuddenlydecided,“Ineedyourhelp.It’sabouttheportal
throughwhichDandilionappearedhere.Theportalstilllinksthetownhallto
—”
“There’s notevenatrace of theportalanymore,”the priest saidColdly,
pointingtothewall.“Can’tyousee?”
“Aportalleavesatrace,evenwheninvisible.Aspellcanstabilizesucha
trace.I’llfollowit.”
“Youmustbemad.Evenifapassagelikethatdoesn’ttearyoutopieces,
whatdoyouexpecttogainbyit?Doyouwanttofindyourselfinthemiddle
ofacyclone?”
“Iaskedifyoucancastaspellwhichcouldstabilizethetrace.”
“Spell?”Thepriestproudlyraisedhishead.“I’mnotagodlesssorcerer!I
don’tcastspells!Mypowercomesfromfaithandprayer!”
“Canyouorcan’tyou?”
248
“Ican.”
“Thengetonwithit,becausetime’spressingon.”
“Geralt,” said Dandilion, “you’ve gone stark raving mad! Keep away
fromthatbloodystrangler!”
“Silence,please,”saidKrepp,“andgravity.I’mpraying.”
“To hell with your prayers!” Neville hollered. “I’m off to gather the
people.We’vegottodosomethingandnotstandheregabbling!Gods,whata
day!Whatabloodyday!”
ThewitcherfeltChireadantouchhisshoulder.Heturned.Theelflooked
himintheeyes,thenloweredhisown.
“You’regoingtherebecauseyouhaveto,aren’tyou?”
Geralt hesitated. He thought he smelled the scent of lilac and
gooseberries.
“Ithinkso,”hesaidreluctantly.“Idohaveto.I’msorry,Chireadan—”
“Don’tapologize.Iknowwhatyoufeel.”
“Idoubtit.BecauseIdon’tknowmyself.”
Theelfsmiled.Thesmilehadlittletodowithjoy.“That’sjustit,Geralt.
Preciselyit.”
Krepp pulled himself upright and took a deep breath. “Ready,” he said,
pointingwithprideatthebarelyvisibleoutlineonthewall.“Buttheportalis
unsteadyandwon’tstaythereforlong.Andthere’snowaytobesureitwon’t
break.Beforeyoustepthrough,sir,examineyourconscience.Icangiveyou
ablessing,butinordertoforgiveyouyoursins—”
“—there’s no time,” Geralt finished the sentence for him. “I know, Mr.
Krepp.There’sneverenoughtimeforit.Leavethechamber,allofyou.Ifthe
portalexplodes,it’llburstyoureardrums.”
“I’ll stay,” said Krepp, when the door had closed behind Dandilion and
the elf. He waved his hands in the air, creating a pulsating aura around
himself. “I’ll spread some protection, just in case. And if the portal does
burst… I’ll try and pull you out, witcher. What are eardrums to me? They
growback.”
Geraltlookedathimmorekindly.
Thepriestsmiled.“You’reabraveman,”hesaid.“Youwanttosaveher,
don’t you? But bravery isn’t going to be of much use to you. Djinns are
vengefulbeings.Thesorceressislost.Andifyougothere,you’llbelost,too.
Examineyourconscience.”
“Ihave.”Geraltstoodinfrontofthefaintlyglowingportal.“Mr.Krepp,
sir?”
249
“Yes.”
“Thatexorcismwhichmadeyousoangry…Whatdothewordsmean?”
“Indeed,whatamomentforquipsandjokes—”
“Please,Mr.Krepp,sir.”
“Oh, well,” said the priest, hiding behind the mayor’s heavy oak table.
“It’s your last wish, so I’ll tell you. It means… Hmm… Hmm…
essentially…getoutofhereandgofuckyourself!”
Geraltenteredthenothingness,wherecoldstifledthelaughterwhichwas
shakinghim.
250
VIII
The portal, roaring and whirlinglikea hurricane, spat himoutwith a force
that bruised his lungs. The witcher collapsed on the floor, panting and
catchinghisbreathwithdifficulty.
The floor shook. At first he thought he was trembling after his journey
throughthesplittinghelloftheportal,butherapidlyrealizedhismistake.The
wholehousewasvibrating,tremblingandcreaking.
Helookedaround.Hewasnotinthesmallroomwherehehadlastseen
YenneferandDandilionbutinthelargecommunalhallofErrdil’srenovated
tavern.
He saw her. She was kneeling between tables, bent over the magical
sphere.Thespherewasaflamewithastrong,milkylight,sobright,enoughto
shineredthroughherfingers.Thelightfromthesphereilluminatedascene,
flickeringandswaying,butclear.Geraltsawthesmallroomwithastarand
pentagramtracedonthefloor,blazingwithwhiteheat.Hesawmany-colored,
creaking, fiery lines shootingfromthe pentagram and disappearingupover
therooftowardthefuriousroarofthecaptureddjinn.
Yennefersawhim,jumpedupandraisedherhand.
“No!”heshouted,“don’tdothis!Iwanttohelpyou!”
“Help?”Shesnorted.“You?”
“Me.”
“InspiteofwhatIdidtoyou?”
“Inspiteofit.”
“Interesting.Butnotimportant.Idon’tneedyourhelp.Getoutofhere.”
“No.”
“Get out of here!” she yelled, grimacing ominously. “It’s getting
dangerous! The whole thing’s getting out of control; do you understand? I
can’t master him. I don’t get it, but the scoundrel isn’t weakening at all! I
caughthimoncehe’dfulfilledthetroubadour’sthirdwishandIshouldhave
himinthespherebynow.Buthe’snotgettinganyweaker!Dammit,itlooks
as if he’s getting stronger! But I’m still going to get the better of him. I’ll
break—”
“Youwon’tbreakhim,Yennefer.He’llkillyou.”
“It’snotsoeasytokillme—”
Shebrokeoff.Thewholeroofofthetavernsuddenlyflaredup.Thevision
projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle
251
appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, and
sparksgushedfromherfingers.
“Run,Geralt!”
“What’shappening,Yennefer?”
“He’slocatedme…”Shegroaned,flushingredwitheffort.“Hewantsto
getatme.He’screatinghisownportaltogetin.Hecan’tbreakloosebuthe’ll
getinbytheportal.Ican’t—Ican’tstophim!”
“Yennefer—”
“Don’tdistractme!I’vegottoconcentrate…Geralt,you’vegottogetout
of here. I’ll open my portal, a way for you to escape. Be careful; it’ll be a
random portal. I haven’t got time or strength for any other… I don’t know
whereyou’llendup…butyou’llbesafe…Getready—”
A huge portal on the ceiling suddenly flared blindingly, expanded and
grewdeformed.Outofthenothingnessappearedtheshapelessmouthalready
knowntothewitcher,snappingitsdroopinglipsandhowlingloudlyenough
to pierce his ears. Yennefer jumped, waved her arms and shouted an
incantation.Anetoflightshotfromherpalmandfellonthedjinn.Itgavea
roar and sprouted long paws which shot toward the sorceress’s throat like
attackingcobras.Yenneferdidn’tbackaway.
Geraltthrewhimselftowardher,pushedherasideandshelteredher.The
djinn,tangledinthemagicallight,sprangfromtheportallikeacorkfroma
bottleandthrewhimselfatthem,openinghisjaws.Thewitcherclenchedhis
teeth and hit him with the Sign without any apparent effect. But the genie
didn’t attack. He hung in the air just below the ceiling, swelled to an
impressivesize, goggledatGeraltwithhis paleeyesand roared.Therewas
something in that roar, something like a command, an order. He didn’t
understandwhatitwas.
“This way!” shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she had
conjuredupohthewallbythestairs.Incomparisontotheonecreatedbythe
genie, the sorceress’s portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. “This way,
Geralt!Runforit!”
“Onlywithyou!”
Yennefer,sweepingtheairwithherhands,wasshoutingincantationsand
themany-coloredfettersshoweredsparksandcreaked.Thedjinnwhirledlike
the bumble-bee, pulling the bonds tight, then loosening them. Slowly but
surelyhewasdrawingclosertothesorceress.Yenneferdidnotbackaway.
Thewitcherleapttoher,deftlytrippedherup,grabbedherbythewaist
with one hand and dug the other intoher hair at the nape. Yennefer cursed
252
nastily‘’andthumpedhimintheneckwithherelbow.Hedidn’tletgoofher.
Thepenetratingsmellofozone,createdbythecurses,didn’tkillthesmellof
lilacandgooseberries.Geraltstilledthesorceress’skickinglegsandjumped,
raisingherstraightuptotheopalescentlyflickeringnothingnessofthelesser
portal.
Theportalwhichledintotheunknown.
Theyflewoutinatightembrace,fellontoamarblefloorandslidacross
it, knocking over an enormous candlestick and a table from which crystal
goblets,plattersoffruitandahugebowlofcrushedice,seaweedandoysters
showered down with a crash. Screams and squeals came from around the
room.
Theywerelyingintheverycenterofaballroom,brightwithcandelabra.
Richlycladgentlemenandladies,sparklingwithjewels,hadstoppeddancing
and were watching them in stunned silence. The musicians in the gallery
finishedtheirpieceinacacophonywhichgratedontheears.
“Youmoron!”Yenneferyelled,tryingtoscratchouthiseyes.“Youbloody
idiot!Youstoppedme!Inearlyhadhim!”
“Youhadshit-all!”heshoutedback,furious.“Isavedyourlife,youstupid
witch!”
Shehissedlikeafuriouscat;herpalmsshoweredsparks.
Geralt, turning his faceaway, caughther by both wristsand they rolled
amongtheoysters,seaweedandcrushedice.
“Do you have an invitation?” A portly man with the golden chain of a
chamberlainonhischestwaslookingatthemwithahaughtyexpression.
“Screwyourself!”screamedYennefer,stilltryingtoscratchGeralt’seyes
out.
“It’s a scandal,” the chamberlain said emphatically. “Verily, you’re
exaggeratingwiththisteleportation.I’mgoingtocomplaintotheCouncilof
Wizards.I’lldemand—”
No one ever heard what the chamberlain would demand. Yennefer
wrenched herself free, slapped the witcher in the ear with her open palm,
kicked him forcefully in the shin and jumped into the fading portal in the
wall.
Geraltthrewhimselfafterher,catchingherhairandbeltwithapracticed
move.
Yennefer,alsohavinggainedpractice,landedhimablowwithherelbow.
Thesuddenmovesplitherdressatthearmpit,revealingashapelybreast.
Anoysterflewfromhertorndress.
253
Theybothfellintothenothingnessoftheportal.Geraltcouldstillhearthe
chamberlain’svoice.
“Music! Play on! Nothing has happened. Please take no notice of that
pitifulincident!”
Thewitcherwasconvincedthatwitheverysuccessivejourneythroughthe
portal,theriskofmisfortunewasmultiplyingandhewasn’tmistaken.They
hit the target, Errdil’s tavern, but they materialized just under the ceiling.
Theyfell,shatteringthestairbalustradeand,withadeafeningcrash,landed
onthetable.Thetablehadtherightnottowithstandtheblow,anditdidn’t.
Yennefer found herself under the table. He was sure she had lost
consciousness.Hewasmistaken.
Shepunchedhim intheeyeand firedavolleyof insultsstraightathim
whichwoulddocredittoadwarvenundertaker—andtheywererenownedfor
theirfoullanguage.Thecurseswereaccompaniedbyfurious,chaoticblows
dealtblindly,randomly.
Geraltgrabbedherbythehandsand,toavoidbeinghitbyherforehead,
thrust his face into the sorceress’s cleavage which smelled of lilac,
gooseberriesandoysters.
“Letmego!”shescreamed,kickinglikeapony.“Youidiot!Letgo!The
fettersaregoingtobreakanymomentnow.I’vegottostrengthenthemorthe
djinnwillescape!”
He didn’t answer, although he wanted to. He grasped her even more
tightly,tryingtopinherdowntothefloor.Yennefersworehorribly,struggled,
andwithallherstrength,kickedhiminthecrotchwithherknee.Beforehe
couldcatchhisbreath,shebrokefreeandscreamedanincantation.Hefelta
terrible force drag him from the ground and hurl him across the hall until,
with a violence that near-stunned him, he slammed against a carved two-
dooredchestofdrawersandshattereditcompletely.
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IX
“What’shappeningthere?!”Dandilion,clingingtothewall,strainedhisneck,
trying to see through the downpour. “Tell me what’s happening there,
dammit!”
“They’re fighting!” yelled an urchin, springing away from the tavern
windowasifhe’dburnedhimself.Histatteredfriendsalsoescaped,slapping
themudwiththeirbareheels.“Thesorcererandthewitcharefighting!”
“Fighting?” Neville was surprised. “They’re fighting, and that shitty
demonisruiningmytown!Look,he’sknockedanotherchimneydown.And
damagedthebrick-kiln!Hey,yougetoverthere,quick!Gods,we’reluckyit’s
rainingorthere’dbeafirelikenobody’sbusiness!”
“Thiswon’tlastmuchlonger,”Kreppsaidgloomily.“Themagicallightis
weakening, the bonds will break at any moment. Mr. Neville! Order the
peopletomoveback!Allhell’sgoingtobreaklooseoverthereatanyminute!
There’llbeonlysplintersleftofthathouse!Mr.Errdil,whatareyoulaughing
at?It’syourhouse.Whatmakesyousoamused?”
“Ihadthatwreckinsuredforamassivesum!”
“Doesthepolicycovermagicalandsupernaturalevents?”
“Ofcourse.”
“That’swise,Mr.Elf.Verywise.Congratulations.Hey,youpeople,getto
someshelter!Don’tgetanycloser,ifyouvalueyourlives!”
AdeafeningcrashcamefromwithinErrdil’shouse,andlightningflashed.
Thesmallcrowdretreated,hidingbehindthepillars.
“WhydidGeraltgothere?”groanedDandilion.“Whatthehellfor?Why
did he insist on saving that witch? Why, dammit? Chireadan, do you
understand?”
Theelfsmiledsadly.“Yes,Ido,Dandilion,”hesaid.“Ido.”
255
X
Geralt leapt away from another blazing orange shaft which shot from the
sorceress’sfingers.Shewasclearlytired,theshaftswereweakandslow,and
heavoidedthemwithnogreatdifficulty.
“Yennefer!”heshouted.“Calmdown!Willyoulisten?!Youwon’tbeable
—”
Hedidn’tfinish.Thinredboltsoflightningspurtedfromthesorceress’s
hands, reaching him in many places and wrapping him up thoroughly. His
clotheshissedandstartedtosmolder.
“I won’t be able to?” she said through her teeth, standing over him.
“You’llsoonseewhatI’mcapableof.Itwillsufficeforyoutolietherefora
whileandnotgetinmyway.”
“Getthisoffme!”heroared,strugglingintheblazingspider’sweb.“I’m
burning,dammit!”
“Liethereanddon’tmove,”sheadvised,pantingheavily.“Itonlyburns
whenyoumove…Ican’tspareyouanymoretime,witcher.Wehadaromp,
butenough’senough.I’vegottotakecareofthedjinn;he’sreadytorunaway
—”
“Run away?” Geralt screamed. “It’s you who should run away! That
djinn…Yennefer,listentomecarefully.I’vegottotellyouthetruth.”
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XI
Thedjinngaveatugatthefetters,tracedacircle,tightenedthelinesholding
it,andsweptthelittletoweroffBeauBerrant’shouse.
“What a roar he’s got!” Dandilion frowned, instinctively clasping his
throat.“Whataterribleroar!Itlooksasifhe’sbloodyfurious!”
“That’sbecauseheis,”saidKrepp.Chireadanglancedathim.
“What?”
“He’sfurious,”repeatedKrepp.“AndI’mnotsurprised.I’dbefurioustoo
if I had to fulfill, to the letter, the first wish accidentally expressed by the
witcher—”
“How’sthat?”shoutedDandilion.“Geralt?Wish?”
“He’stheonewhoheldthesealwhichimprisonedthedjinn.Thedjinn’s
fulfilling his wishes. That’s why the witch can’t master it. But the witcher
mustn’ttellher,evenifhe’scaughtontoitbynow.Heshouldn’ttellher.”
“Dammit,” muttered Chireadan. “I’m beginning to understand. The
warderinthedungeonburst…”
“Thatwasthewitcher’ssecondwish.He’sstillgotoneleft.Thelastone.
But,godshelpus,heshouldn’trevealthattoYennefer!”
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XII
She stood motionless, leaning over him, paying no attention to the djinn
struggling at its bondsabove the tavern roof.The building shook, limeand
splinterspouredfromtheceiling,furniturecrept alongthefloor,shuddering
spasmodically.
“Sothat’showitis,”shehissed.“Congratulations.Youdeceivedme.Not
Dandilion,butyou.That’swhythedjinn’sfightingsohard!ButIhaven’tlost
yet,Geralt.Youunderestimateme,andyouunderestimatemypower.I’vestill
gotthedjinnandyouinmyhand.You’vestillgotonelastwish,haven’tyou?
Somakeit.You’llfreethedjinnandthenI’llbottleit.”
“Youhaven’tgotenoughstrengthleft,Yennefer.”
“Youunderestimatemystrength.Thewish,Geralt!”
“No,Yennefer.Ican’t…Thedjinnmightfulfillit,butitwon’tspareyou.
It’llkillyouwhenit’sfree.It’lltakeitsrevengeonyou…Youwon’tmanage
to catch it and you won’t manage to defend yourself against it. You’re
weakened;youcanbarelystand.You’lldie,Yennefer.”
“That’smyrisk!”sheshouted,enraged.“What’sittoyouwhathappensto
me?Thinkratherwhatthedjinncangiveyou!You’vestillgotonewish!You
can ask what you like! Make use of it! Use it, witcher! You can have
anything!Anything!”
258
XIII
“Arethey bothgoingto die?”wailedDandilion. “Howcome?Krepp, why?
Afterall,thewitcher—Why,byallperfidiousandunexpectedplagues,isn’t
heescaping?Why?What’skeepinghim?Whydoesn’theleavethatbloody
witchtoherfateandrunaway?It’ssenseless!”
“Absolutelysenseless,”repeatedChireadanbitterly.“Absolutely.”
“It’ssuicide.Andplainidiocy!”
“It’s his job, after all,” interrupted Neville. “The witcher’s saving my
town. May the godsbemy witness—if he defeatsthe witchandchases the
demonaway,I’llrewardhimhandsomely…”
Dandilionsnatchedthehatdecoratedwithaheron’sfeatherfromhishead,
spat into it, threw it in the mud and trampled on it, spitting out words in
variouslanguagesashedid.
“Buthe’s…”hegroanedsuddenly,“stillgotonewishinreserve!Hecould
savebothherandhimself!Mr.Krepp!”
“It’s notthatsimple,”the priest pondered.“Butif…If he expressedthe
right wish… If he somehow tied his fate to the fate… No, I don’t think it
wouldoccurtohim.Andit’sprobablybetterthatitdoesn’t.”
259
XIV
“The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches?
Fame? Power? Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven’t any time!” He was
silent.“Humanity,”shesaidsuddenly,smilingnastily.“I’veguessed,haven’t
I?That’swhatyouwant;that’swhatyoudreamof!Ofrelease,ofthefreedom
tobewhoyouwant,notwhoyouhavetobe.Thedjinnwillfulfillthatwish,
Geralt.Justsayit.”
Hestayedsilent.
Shestoodoverhimintheflickeringradianceofthewizard’ssphere,inthe
glowofmagic,amidsttheflashesofraysrestrainingthedjinn,streaminghair
andeyesblazingviolet,erect,slender,dark,terrible…
Andbeautiful.
Allofasuddensheleanedoverandlookedhimintheeyes.Hecaughtthe
scentoflilacandgooseberries.
“You’re not saying anything,” she hissed. “So what is it you desire,
witcher?Whatisyourmosthiddendream?Isitthatyoudon’tknoworyou
can’tdecide?Lookforitwithinyourself,lookdeeplyandcarefullybecause,I
swearbytheForce,youwon’tgetanotherchancelikethis!”
Buthesuddenlyknewthetruth.Heknewit.Heknewwhatsheusedtobe.
What she remembered, what she couldn’tforget, what she lived with. Who
shereallywasbeforeshehadbecomeasorceress.
Hercold,penetrating,angryandwiseeyeswerethoseofahunchback.
He was horrified.No, not ofthe truth. He was horrified that shewould
readhisthoughts,findoutwhathehadguessed.Thatshewouldneverforgive
himforit.Hedeadenedthatthoughtwithinhimself,killedit,threwitfromhis
memoryforever,withouttrace,feeling,ashedidso,enormousrelief.Feeling
that—
The ceiling cracked open. The djinn, entangled in the net of the now
fading rays, tumbled right on top of them, roaring, and in that roar were
triumphandmurderlust.Yenneferleapttomeethim.Lightbeamedfromher
hands.Veryfeeblelight.
Thedjinnopenedhismouthandstretchedhispawstowardher.
Thewitchersuddenlyunderstoodwhatitwashewanted.
Andhemadehiswish.
260
261
XV
Thehouseexploded.Bricks,beamsandplanksflewupinacloudofsmoke
andsparks.Thedjinnspurtedfromthedust-storm,ashugeasabarn.Roaring
and choking with triumphant laughter, the Air genie, free now, not tied to
anyone’s will, traced three circles above the town, tore the spire from the
townhall,soaredintotheskyandvanished.
“It’s escaped! It’s escaped!” called Krepp. “The witcher’s had his way!
Thegeniehasflownaway!Itwon’tbeathreattoanyoneanymore!”
“Ah,”saidErrdilwithgenuinerapture,“whatawonderfulruin!”
“Dammit, dammit!” hollered Dandilion, huddled behind the wall. “It’s
shatteredtheentirehouse!Nobodycouldsurvivethat!Nobody,Itellyou!”
“Thewitcher,GeraltofRivia,hassacrificedhimselfforthetown,”mayor
Neville said ceremoniously. “We won’t forget him. We’ll reverehim. We’ll
thinkofastatue…”
Dandilion shook a piece of wicker matting bound with clay from his
shoulder,brushedhisjerkinfreeoflumpsofrain-dampenedplaster,lookedat
the mayor and, in a few well-chosen words, expressed his opinion about
sacrifice,reverence,memoryandallthestatuesintheworld.
262
XVI
Geraltlookedaround.Waterwasslowlydrippingfromtheholeintheceiling.
There were heaps of rubble and stacks of timber all around. By a strange
coincidence,theplacewheretheylaywascompletelyclear.Notoneplankor
one brick had fallenon them. It was as if they were being protected by an
invisibleshield.
Yennefer,slightlyflushed,kneltbyhim,restingherhandsonherknees.
“Witcher.”Sheclearedherthroat.“Areyoudead?”
“No.”Geraltwipedthedustfromhisfaceandhissed.
Slowly,Yennefertouchedhiswristanddelicatelyranherfingersalonghis
palm.“Iburntyou—”
“It’snothing.Afewblisters—”
“I’msorry.Youknow,thedjinn’sescaped.Forgood.”
“Doyouregretit?”
“Notmuch.”
“Good.Helpmeup,please.”
“Wait,” she whispered.“That wish of yours… I heard whatyou wished
for.Iwasastounded,simplyastounded.I’dhaveexpectedanythingbutto…
Whatmadeyoudoit,Geralt?Why…Whyme?”
“Don’tyouknow?”
Sheleanedoverhim,touchedhim.Hefeltherhair,smellingoflilacand
gooseberries,brushhisfaceandhesuddenlyknewthathe’dneverforgetthat
scent,thatsofttouch,knewthathe’dneverbeabletocompareittoanyother
scentortouch.Yenneferkissedhimandheunderstoodthathe’dneverdesire
anylipsotherthanhers,sosoftandmoist,sweetwithlipstick.Heknewthat,
fromthatmoment,onlyshewouldexist,herneck,shouldersandbreastsfreed
fromherblackdress,herdelicate,coolskin,whichcouldn’tbecomparedto
any other he had ever touched. He gazed into her violet eyes, the most
beautifuleyesintheworld,eyeswhichhefearedwouldbecome…
Everything.Heknew.
“Your wish,” she whispered, her lips very near his ear. “I don’t know
whethersuchawishcaneverbefulfilled.Idon’tknowwhetherthere’ssucha
Force in Nature that could fulfill such a wish. But if there is, then you’ve
condemnedyourself.Condemnedyourselftome.”
Heinterruptedherwithakiss,anembrace,atouch,caressesandthenwith
everything,hiswholebeing,hiseverythought,hisonlythought,everything,
263
everything, everything. They broke the silence with sighs and the rustle of
clothingstrewn on the floor. They broke the silence verygently, lazily, and
theywere considerateandvery thorough.Theywere caringandtender and,
althoughneitherquiteknewwhatcaringandtendernesswere,theysucceeded
because they very muchwanted to. And theywere in no hurrywhatsoever.
The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it
seemedlikeawholeeternity.
Andthentheworldstartedtoexistagain;butitexistedverydifferently.
“Geralt?”
“Mmm?”
“Whatnow?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Nor do I. Because, you see, I… I don’t know whether it was worth
condemningyourselftome.Idon’tknowhow—Wait,whatareyoudoing…?
Iwantedtotellyou—”
“Yennefer…Yen.”
“Yen,”sherepeated,givingintohimcompletely.“Nobody’severcalled
methat.Sayitagain.”
“Yen.”
“Geralt.”
264
XVII
Ithadstoppedraining.ArainbowappearedoverRindeandcuttheskywitha
broken,colored arc.Itlooked asifitgrewstraight fromthetavern’sruined
roof.
“By all the gods,”muttered Dandilion,“what silence… They’re dead, I
tellyou.Eitherthey’vekilledeachotherormydjinn’sfinishedthemoff.”
“Weshouldgoandsee,”saidVratimir,wipinghisbrowwithhiscrumpled
hat.“Theymightbewounded.ShouldIcalladoctor?”
“An undertaker, more like it,” said Krepp. “I know that witch, and that
witcher’sgotthedevilinhiseyestoo.There’snotwowaysaboutit;we’ve
gottostartdiggingtwopitsinthecemetery.I’dadvisestickinganaspenstake
intothatYenneferbeforeburyingher.”
“Whatsilence,”repeatedDandilion.“Beamswereflyingallovertheplace
amomentagoandnowit’sasquietasagrave.”
Theyapproachedthetavernruinsverycautiouslyandslowly.
“Letthecarpentergetthecoffinsready,”saidKrepp.“Tellthecarpenter
—”
“Quiet,”interruptedErrdil.“Iheardsomething.Whatwasit,Chireadan?”
Theelfbrushedthehairoffhispointedearandtiltedhishead.
“I’mnotsure…Let’sgetcloser.”
“Yennefer’salive,”saidDandilionsuddenly,straininghismusicalear.“I
heardhermoan.There,shemoanedagain!”
“Uhuh,”confirmedErrdil.“Iheardit,too.Shemoaned.Shemustreally
besuffering.Chireadan,whereareyougoing?Careful!”
The elf backed away from the shattered window through which he had
carefullypeeped.
“Let’sgetoutofhere,”hesaidquietly.“Let’snotdisturbthem.”
“They’rebothalive?Chireadan?Whataretheydoing?”
“Let’sgetoutofhere,”repeatedtheelf.“Let’sleavethemaloneforabit.
Letthemstaythere,Yennefer,Geraltandhislastwish.Let’swaitinatavern;
they’lljoinusbeforelong.Bothofthem.”
“Whataretheydoing?”Dandilionwascurious.“Tellme,dammit!”
Theelfsmiled.Very,verysadly.“Idon’tlikegrandwords,”hesaid.“And
it’simpossibletogiveitanamewithoutusinggrandwords.”
265
266
THEVOICEOFREASON
267
I
Falwick, in full armor, without a helmet and with the crimson coat of the
Orderflungoverhisshoulder,stoodintheglade.Nexttohim,withhisarms
acrosshischest,wasastocky,beardeddwarfinanovercoatlinedwithfoxfur
over,achain-mailshirtofironrings.Tailles, wearing no armor butashort,
quilteddoublet,pacedslowly,brandishinghisunsheathedswordfromtimeto
time.
The witcher looked about, restraining his horse. All around glinted the
cuirassesandflathelmetsofsoldiersarmedwithlances.
“Bloodyhell,”mutteredGeralt.“Imighthaveexpectedthis.”
Dandilion turned his horse and quietly cursed at the sight of the lances
cuttingofftheirretreat.
“What’sthisabout,Geralt?”
“Nothing.Keepyourmouthshutanddon’tbuttin.I’lltrytoliemyway
outofitsomehow.”
“What’sitabout,Iaskyou?Moretrouble?”
“Shutup.”
“Itwasastupidideaafterall,torideintotown,”groanedthetroubadour,
glancingtowardthenearbytowersofthetemplevisibleabovetheforest.“We
shouldhavestayedatNenneke’sandnotstirredbeyondthewalls—”
“Shutup.It’llallbecomeclear,you’llsee.”
“Doesn’tlooklikeit.”
Dandilion was right. It didn’t. Tailles, brandishing his naked sword,
continuedpacingwithoutlookingintheirdirection.Thesoldiers,leaningon
theirspears,werewatchinggloomilyandindifferently,withtheexpressionof
professionalsforwhomkillingdoesnotprovokemuchinterest.
Theydismounted.Falwickandthedwarfslowlyapproached.
“You’ve insulted Tailles, a man of good birth, witcher,” said the count
withoutpreambleorthecustomarycourtesies.“AndTailles,asyounodoubt
remember, threw down the gauntlet. It was not fit to press you within the
grounds of the temple, so we waited until you emerged from behind the
priestess’sskirt.Taillesiswaiting.Youmustfight.”
“Must?”
“Must.”
“But do you not think, Falwick”—Geralt smiled disapprovingly—“that
Tailles, a man of goodbirth,doesmetoomuch honor? I never attained the
268
honorofbeingknighted,andit’sbestnottomentionthecircumstancesofmy
birth. I fear I’m not sufficiently worthy of… How does one say it,
Dandilion?”
“Unfittogivesatisfactionandjoustinthelists,”recitedthepoet,pouting.
“Thecodeofchivalryproclaims—”
“The Chapter of the Order is governed by its own code,” interrupted
Falwick. “If it were you who challenged a Knight of the Order, he could
either refuse or grant you satisfaction, according to his will. But this is the
reverse:itistheknightwhochallengesyouandbythisheraisesyoutohis
ownlevel—but,ofcourse,onlyforthetimeittakestoavengetheinsult.You
can’t refuse. The refusal of accepting the dignity would render you
unworthy.”
“Howlogical,”saidDandilionwithanapelikeexpression.“Iseeyou’ve
studiedthephilosophers,sirKnight.”
“Don’t butt in.” Geralt raised his head and looked into Falwick’s eyes.
“Goon, sir. I’dliketo knowwherethisisleading. WhatwouldhappenifI
turnedouttobe…unworthy?”
“What would happen?” Falwick gave a malicious smile. “I’d order you
hungfromabranch,youratcatcher.”
“Holdon,”thedwarfsaidhoarsely.“Takeiteasy,sir.Andnoinvective,all
right?”
“Don’t you teach me manners, Cranmer,” hissed the knight. “And
remember, the prince has given you orders which you’re to execute to the
letter.”
“It’s you who shouldn’t be teaching me, Count.” The dwarf rested his
handonthedouble-headedaxethrustintohisbelt.“Iknowhowtocarryout
orders,and I can do without your advice.Allow me, Geralt sir. I’m Dennis
Cranmer,captainofPrinceHereward’sguards.”
The witcher bowedstiffly, lookinginto the dwarf’s eyes,light gray and
steel-likebeneaththebushyflaxeneyebrows.
“StandyourgroundwithTailles,sir,”DennisCranmercontinuedcalmly.
“It’llbebetterthatway.It’snotafighttothedeath,onlyuntiloneofyouis
renderedhelpless.Sofightinthefieldandlethimrenderyouhelpless.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“SirTaillesistheprince’sfavorite,” saidFalwick,smilingspitefully.“If
you touch him with your saber during the fight, you mutant, you will be
punished.CaptainCranmerwillarrestyouandtakeyoutofacehisHighness.
Tobepunished.Thosearehisorders.”
269
The dwarf didn’t even glance at the knight; his cold, steel eyes did not
leaveGeralt.
Thewitchersmiledfaintlybutquitenastily.“IfIunderstandcorrectly,”he
said,“I’mtofighttheduelbecause,ifIrefuse,I’llbehanged.IfIfight,I’mto
allow my opponent toinjure mebecause if I wound him, I’ll be put to the
rack. What charming alternatives. Maybe Ishouldsave you the bother? I’ll
thump my head against the pine tree and render myself helpless. Will that
grantyousatisfaction?”
“Don’t sneer,” hissed Falwick. “Don’t make your situation any worse.
You’veinsultedtheOrder,youvagabond,andyouhavetobepunishedforit;
doyouunderstand?AndyoungTaillesneedsthefameofdefeatingawitcher,
sotheChapterwantstogiveittohim.Otherwiseyou’dbehangingalready.
Youallowyourselftobedefeatedandyousaveyourmiserablelife.Wedon’t
careaboutyourcorpse;wewantTaillestonickyourskin.Andyourmutant
skinhealsquickly.So,goahead.Decide.You’vegotnochoice.”
“That’s what you think, is it, sir?” Geralt smiled even more nastily and
lookedaroundatthesoldiersappraisingly.“ButIthinkIdo.”
“Yes,that’strue,”admittedDennisCranmer.“Youdo.Butthenthere’llbe
bloodshed,greatbloodshed.LikeatBlaviken.Isthatwhatyouwant?Doyou
wanttoburdenyourconsciencewithbloodanddeath?Becausethealternative
you’rethinkingof,Geralt,isbloodanddeath.”
“Your argument is charming, Captain, fascinating even,” mocked
Dandilion. “You’re trying to bait a man ambushed in the forest with
humanitarianism, calling on his nobler feelings. You’re asking him, as I
understand,todeignnottospillthebloodofthebrigandswhoattackedhim.
He’s to take pity on the thugs because the thugs are poor, have got wives,
childrenand,whoknows,maybeevenmothers.Butdon’tyouthink,Captain
Cranmer,thatyourworryingispremature?BecauseIlookatyourlancersand
seethattheirkneesareshakingattheverythoughtoffightingwithGeraltof
Rivia,the witcherwhodealtwitha strigaalone,withhisbarehands.There
won’tbeanybloodshedhere;nobodywillbeharmedhere—asidefromthose
whomightbreaktheirlegsrunningaway.”
“I,” said the dwarf calmly and pugnaciously, “have nothing to reproach
mykneeswith.I’veneverrunawayfromanyoneandI’mnotabouttochange
myways.I’m not married,don’tknowanything about anychildrenandI’d
prefer not to bring my mother, a woman with whom I’m not very well
acquainted,intothis.ButIwillcarryoutthe ordersI’vebeengiven.Tothe
letter, as always. Without calling on any feelings, I ask Geralt of Rivia to
270
make a decision. I will accept whatever he decides and will behave
accordingly.”
Theylookedeachotherintheeyes,thedwarfandthewitcher.
“Verywell,”Geraltsaidfinally.“Let’sdealwithit.It’sapitytowastethe
day.”
“Youagree,then.”Falwickraisedhisheadandhiseyesglistened.“You’ll
fightaduelwiththehighbornTaillesofDorndal?”
“Yes.”
“Good.Prepareyourself.”
“I’mready.”Geraltpulledonhisgauntlets.“Let’snotwastetime.There’ll
behellifNennekefindsoutaboutthis.Solet’ssortitoutquickly.Dandilion,
keepcalm.It’sgotnothingtodowithyou.AmIright,Cranmer,sir?”
“Absolutely,”thedwarfstatedfirmlyandlookedatFalwick.“Absolutely,
sir.Whateverhappens,itonlyconcernsyou.”
Thewitchertooktheswordfromhisback.
“No,” said Falwick, drawing his. “You’re not going to fight with that
razorofyours.Takemysword.”
Geraltshrugged.Hetookthecount’sbladeandswipedittotryitout.
“Heavy,”hesaidcoldly.“Wecouldjustaseasilyusespades.”
“Tailleshasthesame.Equalchances.”
“You’reveryfunny,Falwick.”
Thesoldierssurroundedtheglade,formingaloosecircle.Taillesandthe
witcherstoodfacingeachother.
“Tallies?Whatdoyousaytoanapology?”
Theyoungknightscreweduphislips,foldedhisleftarmbehindhisback
andfrozeinafencingposition.
“No?” Geralt smiled. “You don’t want to listen to the voice of reason?
Pity.”
Tailles squatted down, leapt and attacked without warning. The witcher
didn’t even make an effort to parry and avoided the flat point with a swift
half-turn. The knight swiped broadly. The blade cut through the air once
more.Geraltdodgedbeneathitinanagilepirouette,jumpedsoftlyasideand,
with a short, light feint, threw Tailles off his rhythm. Tailles cursed, cut
broadly from the right, lost his balance for a moment and tried to regain it
while,instinctively,clumsily,holdinghisswordhightodefendhimself.The
witcherstruckwiththespeedandforceofalightningbolt,extendinghisarm
to its full length and slashing straight ahead. The heavy sword thundered
againstTailles’blade,deflectingitsohardithittheknightintheface.Tailles
271
howled,felltohiskneesandtouchedthegrasswithhisforehead.
Falwickranuptohim.
Geraltdughisswordintothegroundandturnedaround.
“Hey,guards!”yelledFalwick,gettingup.“Takehim!”
“Standstill!Toyourplaces!”growledDennisCranmer,touchinghisaxe.
Thesoldiersfroze.
“No,Count,”thedwarfsaidslowly.“Ialwaysexecuteorderstotheletter.
ThewitcherdidnottouchTailles.Thekidhithimselfwithhisowniron.His
hardluck.”
“Hisfaceisdestroyed!He’sdisfiguredforlife!”
“Skin heals.” Dennis Cranmer fixed his steel eyes on the witcher and
bared his teeth. “And the scar? For a knight, a scar is a commendable
reminder,areasonforfameandglory,whichtheChaptersodesiredforhim.
Aknightwithoutascarisaprick,notaknight.Askhim,Count,andyou’ll
seethathe’spleased.”
Tailles was writhing on the ground, spitting blood, whimpering and
wailing;hedidn’tlookpleasedintheleast.
“Cranmer!”roaredFalwick,tearinghisswordfromtheground,“you’llbe
sorryforthis,Iswear!”
The dwarf turned around, slowly pulled the axe from his belt, coughed
andspatintohispalm.“Oh,Count,sir,”herasped.“Don’tperjureyourself.I
can’tstand perjurers and Prince Hereward hasgiven methe rightto punish
them.I’llturnadeafeartoyourstupidwords.Butdon’trepeatthem,ifyou
please.”
“Witcher.”Falwick,puffingwithrage,turnedtoGeralt.“Getyourselfout
ofEllander.Immediately.Withoutamoment’sdelay!”
“Irarelyagreewithhim,”mutteredDennis,approachingthewitcherand
returninghissword,“butinthiscasehe’sright.I’drideoutprettyquick.”
“We’ll do as you advise.” Geralt slung the belt across his back. “But
beforethat,Ihavewordsforthecount.Falwick!”
TheKnightoftheWhiteRoseblinkednervouslyandwipedhispalmson
hiscoat.
“Let’s just goback to your Chapter’s code for aminute,” continued the
witcher,tryingnottosmile.“Onethingreallyinterestsme.IfI,letussay,felt
disgustedandinsultedbyyourattitudeinthiswholeaffair,ifIchallengedyou
to the sword right now, what would you do? Would you consider me
sufficientlyworthy to cross bladeswith?Orwouldyou refuse, even though
youknewthatbydoingsoIwouldtakeyoutobeunworthyeventobespat
272
on, punched in the face and kicked in the arse under the eyes of the foot
soldiers?CountFalwick,besograciousastosatisfymycuriosity.”
Falwickgrewpale,tookastepback,lookedaround.Thesoldiersavoided
his eyes. Dennis Cranmer grimaced, stuck his tongue out and sent a jet of
salivaafairdistance.
“Eventhoughyou’renotsayinganything,”continuedGeralt,“Icanhear
the voice of reason in your silence, Falwick, sir. You’ve satisfied my
curiosity;nowI’llsatisfyyours.IftheOrderbothersMotherNennekeorthe
priestessesin anyway,or undulyintrudesupon CaptainCranmer,then may
youknow,Count,thatI’llfindyouand,notcaringaboutanycode,willbleed
youlikeapig.”
Theknightgrewevenpaler.
“Don’tforgetmypromise,Count.Comeon,Dandilion.It’stimeforusto
leave.Takecare,Dennis.”
“Goodluck,Geralt.”Thedwarfgaveabroadsmile.“Takecare.I’mvery
pleasedtohavemetyou,andhopewe’llmeetagain.”
“Thefeeling’smutual,Dennis.”
Theyrodeawaywithostensibleslowness,notlookingback.Theybegan
tocanteronlyoncetheywerehiddenbytheforest.
“Geralt,” the poet said suddenly, “surely we won’t head straight south?
We’llhavetomakeadetourtoavoidEllanderandHereward’slands,won’t
we?Ordoyouintendtocontinuewiththisshow?”
“No, Dandilion, I don’t. We’ll go through the forests and then join the
Traders’ Trail. Remember, not a word in Nenneke’s presence about this
quarrel.Notaword.”
“Weareridingoutwithoutanydelay,Ihope?”
“Immediately.”
273
II
Geralt leaned over, checked the repaired hoop of his stirrup and fitted the
stirrup leather, still stiff, smelling of new skins and hard to buckle. He
adjustedthesaddle-girth,thetravelbags,thehorseblanketrolledupbehind
thesaddleandthesilverswordstrappedtoit.Nennekewasmotionlessnextto
him,herarmsfolded.
Dandilionapproached,leadinghisbaygelding.
“Thankyou for the hospitality, Venerable One,” he said seriously. “And
don’tbeangrywithmeanymore.Iknowthat,deepdown,youlikeme.”
“Indeed,” agreed Nenneke without smiling. “I do, you dolt, although I
don’tknowwhymyself.Takecare.”
“Solong,Nenneke.”
“Solong,Geralt.Lookafteryourself.”
Thewitcher’ssmilewassurly.
“Iprefertolookafterothers.Itturnsoutbetterinthelongrun.”
Fromthetemple,frombetweencolumnsentwinedwithivy,Iolaemerged
inthecompanyoftwoyoungerpupils.Shewascarryingthewitcher’ssmall
chest.Sheavoidedhiseyesawkwardlyandhertroubledsmilecombinedwith
theblushonherfreckled,chubbyfacemadeacharmingpicture.Thepupils
accompanying her didn’t hide their meaningful glances and barely stopped
themselvesfromgiggling.
“For Great Melitele’s sake,” sighed Nenneke, “an entire parting
procession.Take the chest,Geralt. I’ve replenished your elixirs.You’ve got
everything that was in short supply. And that medicine, you know the one.
Takeitregularlyfortwoweeks.Don’tforget.It’simportant.”
“Iwon’t.Thanks,Iola.”
Thegirlloweredherheadandhandedhimthechest.Shesowantedtosay
something.Shehadno idea what ought to be said, what words ought to be
used. She didn’t know what she’d say, even if she could. She didn’t know.
Andyetshesomuchwantedto.
Theirhandstouched.
Blood. Blood. Blood. Bones like broken white sticks. Tendons like
whitish cords exploding from beneath cracking skin cut by enormous paws
bristling with thorns, and sharp teeth. The hideous sound of torn flesh, and
shouting—shamelessandhorrifyinginitsshamelessness.Theshamelessness
oftheend.Ofdeath.Bloodandshouting.Shouting.Blood.Shouting—
274
“Iola!”
Nenneke, with extraordinary speed considering her girth, rushed to the
girl lying onthe ground, shakenby convulsions, and held her down by her
shoulders and hair. One of the pupilsstood as ifparalyzed, the other, more
clearheaded,kneltonIola’slegs.Iolaarchedherback,openedhermouthina
soundless,mutecry.
“Iola!”Nennekeshouted.“Iola!Speak!Speak,child!Speak!”
The girl stiffened even more, clenched her jaws, and a thin trickle of
blood ran down her cheek. Nenneke, growing red with the effort, shouted
somethingwhichthe witcher didn’tunderstand, but his medalliontuggedat
hisnecksohardthathewasforcedtobendunderthepressureofitsinvisible
weight.
Iolastilled.
Dandilion, pale as a sheet, sighed deeply. Nennekeraised herself to her
kneesandstoodwithaneffort.
“Take heraway,”shesaidto thepupils.Therewere more ofthemnow;
they’dgathered,graveandsilent.
“Takeher,”repeatedthepriestess,“carefully.Anddon’tleaveheralone.
I’llbethereinaminute.”
SheturnedtoGeralt.Thewitcherwasstandingmotionless,fiddlingwith
thereinsinhissweatyhands.
“Geralt…Iola—”
“Don’tsayanything,Nenneke.”
“Isawit,too…foramoment.Geralt,don’tgo.”
“I’vegotto.”
“Didyousee…didyouseethat?”
“Yes.Andnotforthefirsttime.”
“And?”
“There’snopointinlookingoveryourshoulder.”
“Don’tgo,please.”
“I’vegotto.SeetoIola.Solong,Nenneke.”
The priestess slowly shook her head, sniffed and, in an abrupt move,
wipedatearawaywithherwrist.
“Farewell,”shewhispered,notlookinghimintheeye.
275
276
277
278
279
TableofContents
TheLastWish 3
TheVoiceOfReason1 5
I 6
1.TheWitcher 7
I 8
II 11
III 18
IV 22
V 26
VI 29
VII 34
VIII 36
TheVoiceOfReason2 37
I 38
II 41
2.AGrainOfTruth 44
I 45
II 48
III 64
IV 65
V 66
TheVoiceOfReason3 73
I 74
3.TheLesserEvil 78
I 79
II 83
III 93
IV 99
V 106
VI 108
TheVoiceOfReason4 114
I 115
280
4.AQuestionOfPrice 119
I 120
II 123
III 149
TheVoiceOfReason5 153
I 154
5.TheEdgeOfTheWorld 160
I 161
II 167
III 171
IV 175
V 183
VI 187
VII 199
TheVoiceOfReason6 202
I 203
6.TheLastWish 209
I 210
II 215
III 219
IV 224
V 229
VI 237
VII 243
VIII 251
IX 255
X 256
XI 257
XII 258
XIII 259
XIV 260
XV 262
XVI 263
XVII 265
TheVoiceOfReason7 267
281
I 268
II 274
CleanCovers 276
282
